


Everyone is breaking, but we turn and flee

by thaxatos



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Eventual Smut, Hitman AU, Hitman Iwaizumi, M/M, Psychatrist Oikawa, Slow Burn, The Hitman AU no one asked for, also side ushiten, it's a mess friends, side bokuaka, side kuroken
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 20:07:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 52,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13643520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thaxatos/pseuds/thaxatos
Summary: Oikawa Tooru is a psychiatrist working for the wrong company, but only realizing that weeks after signing a contract. he endures horrible things and watches without being able to help. So he tries to find a way out.Iwaizumi Hajime is a hitman who gets a new job by the head of a new company. He has to kill someone who raped and killes a patient, so he takes it upon himself to do exactly as he's told.Little do the both of them know that their worlds will turn upside down.





	Everyone is breaking, but we turn and flee

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this writing prompt:
> 
> "You've always been a clumsy person. One day, you wake up tied to a chair, and in front of you is the best Hitman in the world, who has been trying to kill you for years."
> 
> Huge thanks goes to my beta [thelabours](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelabours) and also great friend [kayej](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayejwrotes) . Thanks for putting up with me and making this thing readable. (I can't do tenses even if my life depended on it) 
> 
> Uh, some warnings. There's a lot of stuff going on in this fic. Things that could be distrubing to you are mentioned and a lot of graphic descriptions is there mixed with mental health issues. So if you are sensible you probably shouldn't read???  
> Anyways, have fun!
> 
> (also inspired by [Never Back Down](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tmfBMR6HqyI) by Nine Lashes)

The obnoxious, white light of the computer screen illuminates Hajime’s face, high features lightened, cheekbones and his crooked nose that has been broken more than once already. Deadly silence surrounds him as he reads through the newly arrived email.

Another job offer, of course. A constant frown is plastered onto his face as he reads word after word, scrolling with his right hand while the left is tucked under his chin to support his head.

His eyes move from left to right the whole time, taking every single word in. With every line he reads his frown deepens as he gloomily looks over the text.

Some company called Stratic wants him to kill off one of their employees. They suspect him to have raped and murdered a female patient in the asylum the guy works in. He’s a psychiatrist, first year of officially working. Stratic wants him gone by january.

Hajime glimpses at the date in the right corner of the screen to see it’s already October, not a lot of time, but he’ll manage. He currently doesn’t have any other jobs anyway.

He rolls his head from left to right only to hear the pleasing sound of his neck joints cracking like twigs when he finishes the e-mail. Stretching his arms, he starts to type a reply out. He has already decided to take care of the scum.

As he hits the “send” button he leans back in his chair, hands intertwined behind his neck.

How can someone in his first year already do something so utterly revolting? He should actually be the one in an asylum.

The more he thinks about the whole topic, the darker his face gets, features set in stone.

The familiar sound of a new email rips him out of his thoughts. Stratic really has to be keen on getting rid of that guy if they answer that fast. But he can understand it only too well.

The thing is, Hajime may be one of the bad guys, but only because he is here to kill off the people worse than him. Does this justify his actions?

They tell him how thankful they are about him taking the job, saying they will pay him 2.3 Million Yen for the complete job and an advanced payment of 1 Million. An average amount of money for a hitman. They also tell him everything Hajime needs to know about the victim. Name, age, address, everything.

“Oikawa Tooru, 25 years, Tokyo.” Hajime speaks out loud with a disgusted undertone.

.

Observing is the worst part of the job in Hajime’s opinion. It’s sitting in a car for hours, looking at a scenery where nothing ever changes. Plus, he feels like a total creep, even after all the time he’s been doing this.

He doesn’t actually see Oikawa that often. In the mornings, he leaves his apartment around 6 a.m. to walk his dog and then go to the nearest train station. He drives into a more remote area of Tokyo where the God’s Tree Asylum is behind a thick brick wall. He disappears there for the rest of the day until he walks out of it again, mostly around 10 p.m. Hajime then sees him again when he walks his dog. Oikawa, all tall and proud walking down the street with, literally, a ball of fur. Of course the guy owns a fucking all-white pomeranian.

“Shitty work schedule.” He almost pities him until he gets a hold on himself again and of what Oikawa has done.

His face scrunches up in disgust.

The asylum looks as if it comes straight out of a horror movie. High buildings made of bricks, connected to each other by smaller buildings, most of it hidden behind a wall which has barbed wire on top of it. Ivy climbing up on the walls, giving the asylum a mixed touch of anxiety and nature.

The first time he stared at the whole thing for a while, he shuddered, a bad feeling oozing into every of his fibers.

It’s hard to actually grasp a time where he could finally make a move. So he emails his client, Oikawa’s boss, to please give the guy a day where he leaves work early regularly so he can finally do something.

His client changes Oikawa’s schedule immediately, ending his shift at 4 p.m. every Thursday.

They really are keen on his death.

After some more days of observing, Hajime notices a few things. First, against all odds, Hajime has to admit that Oikawa was pretty. Very pretty, to be completely honest.

Second, somewhere along the observation, Oikawa’s whole stature and the way he walks changed. When he stands now, he doesn’t hold himself proud anymore. His shoulders are hunched more from day to day. He walks as if something stronger than gravity is pulling him down. Once long strides went to shambling.

Third, he goes to a small coffee shop every Thursday after work.

The perfect chance for Hajime to end this whole thing.

He applies for a job as a barista in the shop on a monday, plan already formed in his head.

The shop owner is a young woman, not much older than Hajime himself. She has vivid eyes and her whole person emanates a warm aura.

This will be easy.

He can cover his actually calm personality, for many people intimidating, easily with a well polished cheery mask. Being able to lull people into the right feelings with charm alone, it's something required for his work. This facade helped him quite often already, and so it will be this time.

After an interview full of humble but warm smiles, small talk and some flirting from Hajime’s side, he has the job and the thursday afternoon shift.

His first shift is set for next week.

.

On the Thursday of the following week, Hajime has planned everything thoroughly.

The job is pretty chill, kinda boring even, but some extra money doesn’t hurt him.

Hajime doesn’t even have to look up to know that the next customer is Oikawa. He can literally feel Oikawa’s pompous aura, with something off about it. A small tint of gloominess.

Looking up, he plasters a warm smile on his lips despite his antipathy for the man in front of him.

Oikawa’s smile falters as his eyes meet Hajime’s. He had since always had really expressive eyes, always been able to morph his attitude, facial expression and posture into what he wanted, but he never had control over his eyes. Oikawa seems to notice that.

Seeing the man in front of him closer, Hajime notices that he looks more like a shell, than a actually vivid, human being. Sun drained, almost greyish skin and dark circles under his eyes, deeper than the abyss, have replaced once healthy features. Hajime can see that he tried to cover the rings under his eyes up, but the makeup has already worn off. His hair is a replica to a bird’s nest.. The first times Hajime had seen him it was perfectly done, defined chestnut curls framed his face perfectly, now the color has faded and his hair sticks in every direction.

Only now he makes out all the small details he has missed from observing from far away.

He seems to regret his doings. That almost makes him human.

“A grande caramel white mocha to-go,” Oikawa suddenly states, pulling Hajime out of his thoughts, “Please.”

“That’s plain disgusting.” Hajime answers before his brain can filter the words, nose scrunches up in visible distaste.

Oikawa looks at him with a mock-hurt look, putting a hand over his heart, “Don’t insult your customers like that!”

His voice sounds like the drink he just ordered, plain sweet, surely giving you cavities.

Hajime just archived to meet the human form of a headache.

His eyes widen for a short moment before he gathers himself.

“Sorry. I’ll make you your tooth-rotting drink,” he says with a sly smile, knowing that this is the beginning of the end for the man across him.

Oikawa just smiles at him again with chapped lips and oblivion.

Hajime turns away from him, taking the already prepared paper cup from under the counter. He has already put some ricin into it, knowing Oikawa will order something to go. Thanks to his connections, he knows some people who have plants like castor oil.

He pours the coffee into the cup, putting a lid onto it as he turns back to Oikawa.

“That will be 505, 20 Yen,” he murmurs, smile still in place, “come back again.”

Oikawa slides the money over the counter and Hajime takes it, handing him the drink and the bill, Handing him his death like it's just a normal coffee.

Oikawa says his thanks, putting the bill into a much too thick purse, nods, smiles and strides out of the shop.

Through the glass windows Hajime watches him, wants to see how he takes the first sip of his deadly drink, only to watch the guy literally tripping over his own feet, falling and therefor letting go of the coffee.

Hajime sees the paper cup fall in slow motion, dispersing all the poisoned coffee on the ground when it lands. He feels a sharp burn on his forehead and he realizes he just smacked his palm against it, and not really silently according to the looks the other customers give him.

In front of the window, Oikawa gathers himself, looking up at the sky as if saying “Really?” to every deity above him. He shakes his head and starts walking off.

That didn’t just happen. Oh my god.

Hajime is left with silent agony inside of him. He just wants to scream, get some more ricin and feeding it to Oikawa directly, because apparently the guy is too stupid to die.

The following hours he stands behind the counter, looking at every customer as if they personally offended him and scaring away far too many of them until the owner of the shop tells him to go home. So he does, after announcing that he resigns, leaving her with nothing but a green apron and a baffled look.

On his way home he tries to think of something new to get Oikawa to pushing daisies, but he can’t, because in his mind he is just screaming at him for being such a clumsy douche. With his hands buried deep in the huge pockets of his black parker, which actually isn’t his, he stomps home, leaving a trail of anger behind him.

.

Tooru pulls the collar of his coat up to his nose, shutting the cold air out. He begins to walk faster, longing for the warmth of his apartment.

A headache starts to build up and he presses his eyes shut in pain, losing his hold on reality for a brief moment. He comes to a halt and rubs his temples with his index and middle finger. A sigh escapes his lips and he continues moving. The sooner he is home, the better.

As he gets nearer to the door of his apartment, he can already hear the muffled whining of his dog.

The fucker always knows immediately when I’m around. Cute.

A smile starts to stretch his lips, speeding up his walk while fumbling in his pocket for the keys.

He talks to his dog through the door like everyday, saying he, too, is happy to be home again, and yes, he’s also happy to see him again and of course they will go for a walk soon.

He opens the door and the smell of home hits him instantly, letting his tense muscles relax.

The white ball of fur is already bouncing around Tooru's legs, expressing with high pitched whines how happy he is for his owner to be back again.

Tooru can’t help laughing and carefully picks the soft animal up, only to get licked square over the face. A mix of a disgusted noise and a laugh passes his lips and he nuzzles his face in the soft fur of the dog.

“Hey, Marshmallow,” he says, merely above a whisper and muffled by the fur in his face.

He sets the dog on the ground again, which skitters off into the kitchen. Tooru passes through the hallway, glancing over the framed pictures on the white wall. They tingle a feeling of nostalgia in him and suddenly his whole body hurts.

As he passes a mirror he stops to risk a look, only to take a step back with widened bloodshot eyes. Seems like he can’t cover the apathy in his eyes up anymore. His skin has taken a greyish hue. His hair, in whose natural beauty he has always taken pride, now sticking up in strands, the color wan.

He shuffles into the living room, flopping down onto his couch like a wet bag. As he buries his face in his palms, he feels the hot tickling sensation of tears building up behind his eyes.

His day has been horrible, but this wasn’t the first time he had a horrible day, no. Ever since he started working at God’s Tree, he has had an endless period of horrible days.

But today was by far one of the worst.

His boss had started a new “experiment”. An experiment more inhumane than all the ones before. He and some of his co-workers had to fix a man, against his will, onto an operating table, where he had to undergo a complex operation. The surgeons disconnected nerves from the man’s brain, they took all of his five senses from him.  
The man can’t hear, see, feel or taste anymore now. Only speak.

Gladly, they didn’t make him watch the surgery. He would have thrown up for sure.

Tooru had been in the room when the man had woken up. He can still feel the glass shattering screams of him, like nails screeching on a blackboard, in his bones. He could hear the desperation and anxiety in the man’s voice, could see it in his expression.

Thinking about it sends a shudder down his back and a new wave of tears. Ragged breaths escape his mouth, mixed with muffled sobs, but he can’t stop thinking about it.

The experiment is supposed to prove God’s existence. In Tooru's opinion, God’s existence has already been refuted by the execution of the experiment.

The psychiatrists above him built the hypothesis that the five senses cloud our awareness of God and without them we could be able to connect with God.

Tooru never wanted to do this, never wanted to do things like this, but he can’t get out.

He has signed a fucking contract. He’s desperate. His whole body is filled with anxiety, shuddering. He lets his pride slip and lets his emotions get the better of him, crying and screaming silently in his hands.

A lake of salty water starts to pool in the palms of his hands. He feels so stupid, so stupid. There isn’t even a comparable situation to this feeling of stupidity.

He can’t get a hold on the events that are happening. Everything is moving too fast and he can’t make it stop, like a bullet train rapidly driving towards him.

Two paws start to press on his right thigh and as he glances up, he looks into the loyal, black eyes of Marshmallow with his head tilted and ears flat on his head. The dog whimpers and lies his head on Tooru's thigh.

Another sob leaves his lips as he picks him up and cradles him close to his chest, burying his face in the white softness again.

After feeling dried out from crying and looking apathetic at the wall opposite of him, he forces his body to stand and stalks into his bathroom to shower.

As soon as the hot water starts to hit his skin, causing goosebumps to rise on his skin, he tries to scrub away the guilt, with no effect. Of course.

After the shower he still feels drained, but how could he not? He is a horrible person and at the moment, the person he despises the most.

He catches a glimpse of the tattoo on his right wrist. The russian word for ‘stardust’ is engraved there, an eternal reminder of his grandmother, who always told him about the universe when he was younger and visited her in Russia. She was the person who told him that people are made of stardust. His younger self thought it was beautiful but now, he can’t believe it with the things he has seen.

If she could see me like this, she would surely contravene me. I’m so sorry, zvezda moya. I’m not what either of us wanted me to be.

Tooru feels like crying again, wants to cry, to feel a little more human, but he just. Can’t.

Still standing in the bathroom he feels his head fill with thoughts, memories of where he went wrong. Tooru’s brain doesn’t register what he sees, feels or smells. His mind is clouded by regret.

He only got into this whole situation because he wanted to help people.

Ironic, isn’t it?

Stratic lured him in with a well paid employment and the chance to do what he wants. Little did he know they wanted the opposite, and as shit went down, he had already signed the fucking contract, tying him to the job.

The worst thing is that he seems to be the only one having a problem with how things go in the whole asylum.

All of his co-workers still live their lives normally. They don’t look sleep deprived, they don’t look like they have lost their appetite, their happiness. Sometime he can hear them crack a joke, laughing and Tooru gets disgusted by it every time they do so.

He gets dressed again and goes for a small walk with Marshmallow, feeding him afterwards and eating something himself. Only at the sensation of food in his mouth he realises that he hasn’t eaten much the whole day. He didn’t even had his coffee.

After he stacked the dishes into the sink with the thought “I will just wash them tomorrow”, which he has thought for the past week, he wanders off to his bed. As he tries to get comfortable, he can’t do that either.

Everything he does leaves him guilt tripped.

As he glances at his clock, the obnoxiously red digits announcing that it’s already 2 a.m. He doesn’t even care anymore. He knows that he won’t get any damn sleep this night like all the other nights before. Why bother trying? So he lies awake in his bed, staring at the disgruntling white ceiling as question over question start flooding his mind. His headache worsens, feeling like a car hitting his skull the whole time.

.

Hajime thinks of another plan the next day, and comes to a conclusion. Something the idiot can’t possibly ruin. Something where he doesn’t have to pay an extraordinary amount of money for poison.

The plan is to just sneak up on Oikawa and suffocate him with a bag, quick and dirty. Yes. That’s a good plan. Now he only has to wait for the next Thursday.

Still, there is a thought that clings to the edge of Hajime’s mind: Oikawa doesn’t look like a person who could rape and murder someone. Let alone wants to. But that’s the problem with people. You can’t read their minds. Hajime always thought those are the worst. The ones where you just can’t pinpoint their abilities.

But still, it’s strange to him how he gets the feeling this entire situation is wrong. The feeling is akin to a demon on his back he can’t shake off. Why is this whole thing even getting so close to him?

With a scowl and a huff he gets up from the arm of the couch and paces around his living room, staring at the concrete walls of the room, covered in colorless paintings. Sitting down at his desk as he decides to do some more, to get his mind off of his job. So he paints, colorless as always.

.

When Thursday finally rolls around, Hajime had enough of this whole situation and is more than ready to end this, already luring in a dark side street where he knows no one will ever pass, except for Oikawa of course. The guy seems to have a knack for eerie places.

He has never felt more like a cliche as he lures for him.

Hajime fumbles for his watch in the pocket of his pants and pull it out, glancing at the time.

4:26 p.m., which means Oikawa should pass by soon. An approving noise passes his lips and he pockets the watch, which normal people would wear around the wrist.

After all the time he is doing those jobs, he isn’t even nervous anymore. The first few times he did them, his nerves tingled with anticipation, trying to tell him to run, to not do it. Maybe, if he had listened to it the first time, his life would be better by now. But no, he was stubborn and got through with it.

His first job was to kill a man who had raped his own daughter. Hajime was convinced to just slit his throat and then get away, after all he was a trained soldier. But no, his whole coolness shook when he looked the man in the eyes.

Ice cold blue eyes, not holding any emotions. Plain, cold abyss.

With trembling movements he cut through the man’s throat before he could even react. He himself had fucked up there. Didn’t use enough pressure to also slit through the windpipe. The cut was too shallow to kill the man within seconds as it should have. Hajime heard the agonized screams of the man, heard them for long minutes before enough blood was lost and the man stilled. He will never forget the first screams he caused, the puddle of blood he had created.

He had vomited into the next corner, promised to never do something like this again. But his lack of money got him into the next job and then the next and the next.

He senses feeling that could be described as butterflies in your stomach, with the fine difference that it feels more like hornets, but he blocks it out. He won’t let it get too close to him again.

Finally, Oikawa’s profile comes into view and his muscles jump to action. He slings an arm around Oikawa’s middle, pulling him into the darkness, muffling the surprised, afraid noises with his other hand.

When he has Oikawa where he wants him to, he jerks his head back. Dark low words whispering into the side of his victim’s head, “Don’t you dare move a muscle.”

The words are spoken so harsh and intimidating, Oikawa is like petrified, really not moving a muscle. Oikawa may has realized Hajime wants an answer, so he nods, squeezes his eyes shut, tears flowing out of the corners. In one swift motion, which he has done enough times already, Hajime drags the plastic bag over Oikawa’s head, pressing into his throat with his fingers to cage the air in the bag.

Oikawa’s nails claw into Hajime’s hands on instinct, desperately trying to loosen the merciless pressure on his throat, but with no effect. Hajime can feel, as ragged breaths leave Oikawa’s mouth, can feel his tense muscles tremble and his heart beating like a hummingbird.

Drops of sweat start to gather on Hajime’s brows as he listens to the hoarse whimpers of Oikawa, frantically trying to breath, hands burning by the scratching of Oikawa’s nails.

Come on now.

It’s the only thought on Hajime’s mind when Oikawa suddenly rips his head back, hitting Hajime square in the face with the back of his head, so hard he lets go of his throat.  
Falling to his knees in agony, moaning in pain.  
As he is on the ground, hunched over, he brings his trembling right hand up to his nose and feels blood rolling over his knuckles.

Oh great. As if my nose hasn’t been broken enough, for fuck’s sake.

Hajime can hear the static sound of Oikawa janking the plastic back off his head and letting it float to the ground, over his pained huffs. Oikawa sucks some air in, sounding like the crackling of fire, the noise echoes on the walls and then he starts running, despite his probably already burning lungs.

Hajime can hear the steps getting more silent with every meter Oikawa runs.

He sits back up and lets his back collide with the cold wall behind him, intentionally hitting the back of his head against it too. An annoyed sigh leaves his lips as he catches his breath again. And only now he realizes this won’t be as easy as he thought it would be.

After some time he gets up, leaving the white plastic bag on the ground. His whole face hurts, aching for something soothingly cold. With a hand over his face he walks to his apartment, earning strange looks from passants, as soon as they spot the blood dripping down his hand. Sharp green eyes glaring at them, so they shy away, fixing their eyes on the ground and walk past him.

Fuck, I need a new plan.

.

By the time Tooru is finally in his flat, his lungs feel as if they are filled with gasoline and the next step could drop a match, setting them aflame. His whole right side is hurting and he is barely breathing. Shallow huffs coming out from between his lips, pearls of sweat all over his face and constellations of tears on his eyelashes.

He lightly touches his throat, still feeling the burning of foreign hands there.

He can’t get a hold on what just happened. Everything passed so fast. Strong arms pulling him into the darkness, the smell of plastic surrounding him, no air, pain at the back of his head, first breath and then running.

Realization strikes him like a bolt. Someone just tried to kill him. His knees suddenly feel so weak, gravity pulls him to the ground as he sinks down, down, down. Sitting there on the floor in his hallway, he stares at the cold white walls, a haze of nothingness fogging his mind. He feels remote to reality, can’t even hear the squealing of his dog, can’t feel the warmth pressing to his leg.

One question starts to build up in his mind.

Where did I go wrong?

When he left the asylum today, he thought he had already hit rock bottom. But this just made everything worse.

He wasn’t aware that this could happen.

Sometime last week the man, experiment 14 how everyone calls him, stated that he can hear voices and is able to talk to his dead wife. The way the man talks now is woolly, barely understandable. The first times he spoke, Tooru had a hard time making out his words.

Tooru and his co-workers dismissed it as a simple psychosis, the man going mad without his senses. But things started to get weird today. The man, they won’t tell Tooru his name which boils his blood, started to talk to specific psychiatrists, told them about the people they had lost in their life, told them about dead people he wasn’t able to know. The man narrated anecdotes of events that happened to the now dead people and his co-workers. Everyone was in shock at that, because he was right. Everything he said was right.

And then, the man turned his head, empty white eyes fixing Tooru, as if he could see him.

“I talked to your mother,” the man told him, instantly freezing Tooru’s blood, “she told me about the pain she felt when you and your sister left, abandoned her.”

At his words Tooru’s eyes widened. The man can only talk to the dead, his mother isn’t dead. That can’t be. He would have known about it. Someone would have told him, right?

He shook the shock off and started walking towards the man, fury gushing in his eyes.

“My mother,” Tooru raised his voice and came to a halt in front of the man,”had no fucking right to be in pain!”

He wanted to throw more words, filled with hate, at the man, wanted to tell him how wrong he was, as he felt the hand of one of his co-workers on his shoulder, immediately grounding him.

“Oikawa,” the other psychiatrist commanded, “he can’t hear you, have you forgotten?”

Tooru’s whole body tensed at those words. His colleague was right. The man can’t hear.

After that Tooru excused himself and went to the bathroom. Blankly staring into the mirror as thoughts raced through his head. His mother is dead since god knows how long and no one told him about it. The last words he said to his mother were “Fuck off, I don’t care!”

Dread, intertwined with regret, started to coil around his heart, keeping it from beating.

After he has gathered himself, he went back to work, acting as if all of this wouldn’t get under his skin.

Now he is home, still not wanting to believe the man. And there is only one way to get to the truth.

Clumsily and with trembling fingers, he pulls his mobile phone out of the pocket of his pants. He scrolls through his contracts as his thumb stilled over one specific number. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath he taps on “Dial” and puts the phone to his ear.

With every static sound the phone makes, his heart rate quickens until the person on the other line picks up, freeing him from his agony.

“Tooru,” he listened to the voice he hasn’t heard in three years, “what do you want?”

His sister’s voice is covered in disgust. Tooru closes his eyes again and starts talking, ignoring the pain that spreads inside of his chest.

“As I can see, you are still not happy with the way I live my life,” he earns a disapproving huff from his sister, “but I wanted to know-” The words got stuck in his still burning throat, hurting with every word that passes his lips. He hadn’t thought about the way he should ask something like that. He figures he will do it the way he always talked with her, directly.

“I wanted to know if our mother… has passed away.”

A long silence starts to spread between them. The rustling of the phone connection tingles his nerves. He can almost see his sister leaning against the kitchen counter, massaging her forehead.

“Yes,” she begins with a softer, almost soothing voice, “she passed away two years ago.”

Anger starts to knot Tooru’s intestines when the words get to him.

“And you never thought about fucking telling me? What the hell?” breathing the words like a flame through gritted teeth.

“What? All of a sudden you care about her?,” she questioned and Tooru can feel her smile, “you were the one who begged me to take you away from her!”

“This has nothing to do with caring! But yes, it would have been nice to know I’m a half-orphan now, thank you very much.”

As the silence grows louder Tooru thinks he can hear his blood rushing through his veins, anger spreading like a wildfire in his chest.

“I’m sorry,” his sister whispers and Tooru can hear honesty in her words, the anger starting to cool down, “you know that I miss you, don’t you? Can’t we talk about this? We can get you help! You are not alone in this! If you would change, you could come back again.”

And the anger is back again, fueled even more, tingling in every of his fibers. He can feel the world shaking beneath him. He feels pressure building up, afraid he will suffocate again. But he won’t let his anger get the best of him, so he calmly collects his thoughts, ignoring the apocalypse inside of him.

“Ah,” his voice, now an animalistic growl, drips of sheer hate, “you can’t tell people who they love. If you have a problem with my sexuality,” he pauses for the effect, “then I’m sorry for you being too narrow minded.”

He spit the last words literally out and hangs up, laying the phone on the floor besides him. He already knows that this was the last nail for the coffin to his and his sister’s relationship. He knows this just was the last time he talked to her.

That night Tooru, surprisingly, didn’t get any sleep either. The strange thing is, that's it’s not because of the attack, he kind of couldn’t care less. It’s his sister who makes his heart skip beats and boils his blood at the pure thought.

But he uses his time to think. Think about a way out of this misery he has to call his life. He will go to the press.

The whole night he works on a report about what happens behind the closed doors of the asylum. The report has fifty-eight pages and he worships it like some people worship the Bible. This is the key to a new life.

Now he only needs some proofs. Some of the documents from God’s Tree which can’t be faked.

Today, he thinks as he wakes up, he has to copy some of the certified files of different cases he worked on in the past. He will send it to every media he can think of, anonymously, and God’s Tree will fall.

When he is at work, he walks around like something is behind him the whole time. He knows he acts too obvious, but he can’t help it when every fiber he possesses is shaking from dread. The role of a whistleblower is not an easy one and absolutely no safe one either.

Over the day, he manages to gather many files and when every one of his co-workers leave, he stays behind to get the job done.

He can’t even read the whole reports, only the headline and that’s enough to churn his stomach into a tight knot.

It’s already past eleven when only the guards are left in the asylum with him and he is positioned in front of the copier, scanning file after file to print them out. The stripe of scanning light from the copier hushs over his face every once in awhile. Feeling his heart pulsating in his throat, his eyes scan the quiet room, only waiting for someone to find him.

The small office suddenly seems too narrow, the ugly beige colored walls getting nearer and nearer. Finally, the last copy flies out of the copier and Tooru bundles everything in one stack. He deletes the history, shuts the machine down and walks away, long anxious strides.

.

Hajime is waiting in his car in front of the asylum and with every minute, the sun vanishes a little more behind the colossal building. He feels an oppressing discomfort, seizing his muscles as he sits in his car in the dark, waiting for Oikawa to finally show up.

He thought it’s impossible that the ugly brickhouse could be any more intimidating. Turns out it is, from the moment on the sun is set.

At 11.43 p.m. Oikawa finally steps through the huge metal gate, shoulders hunched and seemingly more distracted than the days before.

Ok. That’s fair. He almost got murdered.

Hajime crunches his teeth at the “almost”.

This is not the first time one of his attacks has failed, so he knows Oikawa will take a new route to get home. Avoiding yesterday’s side street like a cat avoids water. Hajime has been through this already, so a new round of boring observation and marking a path starts.

While following Oikawa in secret, he already marks some spots on his map he could use as a new location for an attack.

His eyes don’t leave Oikawa’s back as he patiently drives behind him. And then Oikawa trips, again, but he can catch himself midway and gets up again, only to hit his head on a street lamp. Oikawa’s hands move up to his temple, palming the spot which has collided with the steel.

Hajime groans and drops his head on the steering wheel, tightening his grip around it, knuckles turning white.

“Maybe, if I wait long enough, the idiot will kill himself accidentally. Less work for me then,” he presses lowly through gritted teeth.

After he has seen Oikawa disappearing in the seemingly luxurious building, Hajime drives home.

Stratic seems to pay their employees as well as their hitmen.

In front of the building where his apartment is, he gathers his map and notebook, keeping it on his lap as he lets his gaze wander over the old building.

It’s not that he doesn’t have the money for a nicer apartment, no. The problem would be the landlord. The building he lives in now is owned by a guy who doesn’t give a shit about the people living in his house, as long as they pay their rent. When Hajime signed the tenancy agreement, the landlord didn’t even ask what he did for a living.

And that’s why an underground network got built up in the house. That’s the reason why drug cooks, hitmen, hackers and other shifty people live there, Hajime included.

He sighs and gets out of the car and into the stairwell. Steps that haven’t seen water in years lead him to his floor, an old wooden banister curling around the twisted stairs, which has seen better days too. On the walls, the wallpaper is already peeling off in parts, revealing several other wallpapers underneath it and lastly, bricks.

The hallway is illuminated by an oppressing yellow light, throwing Hajime’s shadow across the shady floor.

Hajime doesn’t even have to open the door to know that they are in there. He can hear dull music from behind the door. Hajime recognizes the lyrics and beats and instantly instantly that they are listening to Atmosphere, as always. Another sigh escapes his lips, a sign for his endless annoyance towards them.

He knows his door is open, so he doesn’t even bother to get his keys, he just opens it and gets inside. Immediately, the biting smell of burnt herbs floods his senses, of course they are getting high.

And another sigh crosses his lips, those idiots make him feel like an old man. As soon as he steps into the open living room and their glassy eyes catch sight of Hajime, the asynchronous chorus of his name rumbles in his ears, sounding heavily washed.

“Why the hell are you pricks here again?” Hajime crosses the room and flops down on the armchair across from the couch, “can’t you two just leave me alone for at least one week?”

Hajime is very aware of the fact that he won’t get an answer from the human puddle across of him.

“Come on, Hajime-chan,” Hajime will rip his head off, “we know you love us. Stop playing emotionless all the time.”

“Kuroo, Bokuto,” his words are barely above a whisper, “I swear to God, I’ll rip you apart if you don’t leave.”

“Oh,” Bokuto sing songs in the most obnoxious voice Hajime has ever heard, “did you have a rough week? Come on, just smoke a little with us and the world will seem a little brighter.”

Kuroo extends his arm to Hajime, joint between his thumb and index finger.

Cheshire smiles are neatly placed on their lips as their eyes barely hold their glee.

He knows this is the worst possible thing he can do right now. Or maybe not. Maybe he can think of a new plan, can talk it through with the two of them and rant for a while. Still, he hesitates. Where did they even get the weed from?

“Now take it,” Bokuto raises his voice again and as if reading his mind, he adds, “if you only knew how much time Keiji invested in caring for the stupid plant.”

This is convincing enough for Hajime. He trusts Akaashi more than the two idiots and deeply hopes Bokuto and Kuroo didn’t mix anything else into it to stretch it, like last time.

A shudder runs down his spine as he thinks about it. He takes the blunt from Kuroo and sucks the smoke into his lungs. He keeps it in them for a few seconds, before releasing it and the tension into the sticky apartment.

He can feel how the fuzziness creeps into his body, his eyes rolling back into his head, a lazy smile now plastered on his lips.

“But seriously, why are you here? Don’t you each have a significant other to care about?”

“No significant others to care about when they are gone to get a new job,” Kuroo huffs, his face growing a little darker.

“How long will they be gone?”

“Until Keiji can convince them to sell Kuroo’s drugs.”

“Sometimes,” Hajime focuses his gaze on Kuroo, “I’m astonished you don’t consume the shit you make.”

“Nah, meth and crack are a little too hard for me,” the cheshire smile is back on his lips, “I don’t want to end up like my customers.”

“You are a horrible person,” Bokuto and Hajime tell him in unison after exchanged glances and a stretched silence.

Sometimes Hajime thinks Kuroo is even worse than him and Bokuto.

“It hurts,” Kuroo tries to put a hand over his heart, but places it on the right side of his chest, “to hear something like that from not one, but two hitmen.”

“Are you really that high or just didn’t pay attention in your biology classes?” Hajime chuckles airily, “your heart is on the left side. Normally. Sometimes I do wonder if you are human.”

Kuroo frowns down at his hand and places it on his left side before letting it rest on the arm of the couch, scowling at his right side.

“Anyway,” as always the words that leave Bokuto’s mouth are too loud, “why are you so grumpy? And I mean, you are constantly grumpy, but today you’ve reached a new level of grumpiness.”

Kuroo’s head snaps back to Bokuto, “That’s not even a word!”

“Of course it is a word! Iwaizumi, where is your dictionary?”

“First of all,” Hajime shakes his head, as Bokuto and Kuroo keep bickering about whether ‘grumpiness’ is a word or not, “grumpiness is a word,” a cheer from Bokuto, “second of all, I’m not constantly grumpy!”

The bickering stops immediately and slowly they turn their heads to Hajime after their eyes have met, malicious joy flaming up in them.

“Hajime-chan,” there’s a daunting undertone in Bokuto’s voice, “you literally are the personification of a resting-bitch-face.”

Hajime doesn’t even bother with showing emotions, he simply shrugs and has to admit it’s right, even though he won’t ever tell them.

He takes another drag from the joint and passes it to Bokuto, Atmosphere still blasting in the background.

“Now, what’s bothering you,” Kuroo’s voice is thick with sincerity, “spit it out already.”

Hajime throws his head back and groans, “I got a new job and this piece of shit won’t let me kill him, stop laughing,” he glares daggers at the both of them, “I attempted it two times already but he’s just too... clumsy,” he looks back at the high mess across of him, now hanging off of each other as they try not to laugh, they are really bad at it, “come on. Help me at least, I need a new plan.”

“You are like a Master class hitman,” Bokuto makes a pause mid sentence just so he can laugh again, “and then you fail at this? Seriously? What’s up with you?”

Anger starts to boil Hajime’s blood. He isn’t angry at Bokuto for the stupid remark, but at himself, because it’s true. He is indeed one of the best hitmen around Tokyo and fails at this. Frustration carves into his bones.

Kuroo wipes a tear away from the corner of his eye, black fingernails catching the garish light of the neon tube, “What did you try already?”

Hajime doesn’t think it is that funny, they are just thirty feet high, “Poisoning him with ricin, but he dropped the coffee. Then suffocating him with a plastic back, but the fucker head-butted me and ran away.” Gloomily, he looks at his clenched fists resting on his lap as another wave of shrill laughter drowns the music.

Hajime throws his legs over the left arm of the chair, head now placed on the right arm as he stares at the ceiling. The joint is in his hand again and he takes another breath, the light dancing in front of his eyes.

“I’m only a drug cook,” Kuroo’s voice is airy, small huffs of laughter in between the words he speaks, “but how about stabbing?”

“But the left side of the chest!” Bokuto says with as much seriousness he can muster.

“Oh, shut the fuck up!” Kuroo bites back, Hajime just laughs at them. Maybe it is good they have decided to come over tonight, even though they are annoying little shits.

“I don’t like working with daggers or knives.”

Hajime’s voice is filled with discomfort, his voice only a whisper, and it makes him sick to the stomach that it’s so obvious.

“Why is that so?” both of their heads are crooked in curiosity.

“Because it’s a huge mess.”

“You are a hitman. Why do you care about that?”

“I’ve never liked blood.” Hajime directs the whispered words to the ceiling, watching colores walz in front of his inner eye. He’s been high often enough to know they are not really there. Not like at his first time.

An eerie silence reigns the atmosphere, even though the music is still playing, there’s a crushing silence, after the words have left his mouth. He has never told anyone about it.

Which hitman is afraid of blood after all?

Soon enough, Kuroo and Bokuto start quarreling again. Hajime shuts the noises out, only listening to his thoughts. He has already decided to stab Oikawa. At least it won’t be as much of a mess as slitting his throat. Had he only known that when he executed his first job.

The images of the night fill his mind, as vividly as when he experienced it, and he thinks he can smell the irony-copper scent again, the scent of a death he caused. Absentmindedly, he starts rubbing his hands against one another, the tension and warmth stronger through the weed, thinking there is still blood on his hands. His gut twists around his intestines.

Hajime bolts up and wanks to the bathroom.

The shallow, orange light illuminates the whole room, dipping everything into an obnoxious orange hue. He has always hated orange.

He grips the sides of the sink, the contact with the cold porcelain sends a shiver through his frame as he tries to focus on the green tiles, but his head is a woozy mess, filled with cotton and images from a past he would rather forget.

Ragged breaths escape his lips, his ribs seize around his lungs, his whole body trembling. With a shaky hand, he turns the faucet on, spills some water onto his face and rubs away the imaginary blood on his hands.

Slowly, some skin starts to peel off from his hands. How long has he been in here already? The water now stinging at the contract.

He realizes the cold, wet streaks on his face.

A strong knock is heard on the door behind him.

“Iwaizumi,” it’s Kuroo’s voice, “is everything alright?”

“Everything is fine,” he presses the words through clenched teeth, voice still strong, but slowly faltering, “but please, go.”

The last words, a silent command they should rather follow.

His gaze is still glued to his hands, rubbing at them. He can hear muffled talking from behind the door as Bokuto and Kuroo discuss about whether they should leave or not.

“Okay.”

Thank god Hajime and Bokuto have known each other for a long time now, so Bokuto knows Hajime wants to be alone in times like this.

“We’ll be gone now. If you need us, we’re only a call away.”

He hears them shuffle away and as the door falls into the frame, he releases a loud, shallow sob.

.

For Tooru, the last few days have been a trip to hell and today has been the cherry on top of it all.

The day after experiment 14 told the psychiatrists about his conversation with the dead, he started to scream at exactly 9 a.m.

His screams echoed through the asylum, echoing from the walls and driving Tooru crazy. The man’s agonized cries ripped through his whole body, making sure to never be forgotten by his bones.

Tooru and the others tried to calm the man down with medicine, but nothing affected him. He screamed for five hours straight. After the first two hours he paused briefly and then, starting as a whisper, increasing the volume with every repeat, he shouted the same sentence over and over again.

“No heaven, no forgiveness.”

No one knew what to do. How do you calm a man down who can’t hear or see you? So they just let him scream until his voice was hoarse and he had to end his session, coughing as if he didn’t want his lungs anymore.

Tooru thought there was nothing human about the man anymore, as he sat there in his bed, sheets blotched with the wetness from his tears.

Tooru can’t remember when he saw the man the last time not crying.

He was pale, you could mistake him for a wraith. The man had lost so much weight, Tooru could count every one of the man’s two hundred and six bones. Redness surrounded the milky eyes which always moved, as if the man could still see.

Yes. Tooru was afraid of the man. Every time he had to look at him, his stomach filled with dread. He constantly felt like gravity was pushing a stone onto his stomach.

The man fell asleep after that and only woke up the next day.

The following four days the man hasn’t slept for a second.

With slurred words he begged for sleeping pills, begged for them to finally kill him and denied food and water. The man wanted to die so badly just to shut the voices inside his head up. To finally find peace.

The psychiatrists didn’t give him sleeping pills, saying it would manipulate the whole experiment and they already came that far.

Humans are just savages, hidden behind shirts, ties and marriages.

So the man tried to shut them up on his own.

When it was Tooru’s turn to look after the man again, he entered the room to see him in front of the wall to Tooru’s left. With an impulsive force the man threw his head back and forth, bashing his head against the wall, until he had a laceration on his forehead, tinting the wall in his blood.

The first minutes Tooru was petrified, he couldn’t move a muscle, his lungs started to seize. Goosebumps rose on his skin, leaving him to feel like Alaska was spreading in his chest like a rapidly growing cancer. He could only stare at the man.

When he gasped, he pushed himself back into reality.

He pulled the walkie talkie on his hip up to his mouth with shaking hands and pressed a button to speak in a wobbly voice, hot streaks already on his cheeks.

He still can’t believe how his co-workers even understood him.

“I…need help. He’s…we need to get him back into the bed.”

He doesn’t remember what happened next, only that he was roughly shoved into the sitting room and then pushed down onto a chair. He doesn’t know how he got home that day, doesn’t know when he stopped crying, doesn’t know when he stopped shaking, doesn’t know when the static noise in his head stopped.

The next day the staff decided to check on the man in a group of five people from now on.

So when it was Tooru’s group’s turn to check on him they found him sitting in a corner with blood on the floor he sat on, on his hands and around his mouth.

He had ripped pieces of flesh out of his arms, trying to tear his artery apart.

His colleagues jumped into action the moment they registered what happened, running to the man, pushing him against the ground face first. He fought against the restrainments, even though he was far too weak already to be a bother. Tooru could hear his co-workers scream at him, trying to get him to help. But he just stood on the same spot at the door as if he had taken root there.

He felt as if his brain was scattered, his view clouded until everything he could see was something akin to a noise video.

The other psychiatrists pushed him out of the way, taking the man to another room to restrain him, leaving Tooru behind.

He wrapped his arms around his middle and tried to calm down, tried to breathe evenly.

How am I the only one who’s affected by all of this?

Gathering himself again he walked back to the office he shares with another employee.

Today, all the psychiatrists and even the head of Stratic stood around the fixated man. He was highly dehydrated from all the crying, not even forced nutrition could help him anymore.  
All of them waited for him to pass away.

Tooru thought the man was already dead. The rising and falling of his chest was slowly and, with every breath the man took, a rattling sound scurried through the rooms. Tooru could see the blue mosaic of veins under the man’s pale skin. His eyes were closed the whole time, dry lips parted.

He suddenly tore his eyes open and stared right at Tooru with his dulled eyes. Tooru drowned in the white colour, the raspy askew voice of the man grounding him again.

“God... has abandoned us.”

The man whispered it directly to Tooru, whose eyes widened, a single tear rolling over his cheek.

The man closed his eyes, took a last ragged breath and passed away. The other people in the room started to move again, shifting through it, taking notes and whispering amongst themselves.

Tooru felt transparent as he apathetically kept staring at the dead man in front of him.

A rumbling voice transported him back into the scene.

“Oikawa. Don’t you think you should work too?”

It was his boss. Tooru just nodded absentmindedly and walked away, gathering his notebook and started writing down what happened the last hours.

Now he is home, sitting on one of his uncomfortable kitchen chairs, he doesn’t know why he even bought them. He has his knees pulled up to his chest, resting his arms on them.

It is Saturday and he doesn’t have a shift tomorrow, so he sits there, drowning his fifth glass of wine.

He feels his mind getting fizzy, his whole body warming up, melting the Alaska inside his chest.

He wants to forget what happened, doesn’t want to feel anymore. He wants nothing more than a few hours of sleep.

The last months, he has been running on coffee, his mind too loud with pictures of the asylum.

Sighing, he grabs the white bag on the table and pulls the little package out of it, the sound of the bag falling into itself filling the room.

He opens the package and pulls the grid with the pills out, dropping one into his palm and swallowing it without water.

It wasn’t easy to get the Lunesta, but thank God for the shady people in Tokyo that sell the shit.

Tooru stands up, trying to go to his bedroom, when his head starts to spin. He shouldn’t have taken them with alcohol, damn it.

He grips the edge of the table with his right hand until his knuckles turn white.

Everything in front of him starts to blur and double. With careful, calculated steps, leaning onto the wall, he makes it to his bed.

Ungracefully, flopping down onto it, his face crashing into the soft pillow.

He drapes the blanket over his frame and hums contented.

The last thing he registers is the padding of paws on lino floor and the shifting of his bed as Marshmallow nuzzles himself against his chest, yelping with satisfaction.

Tooru smiles and cradles the dog with one hand as he slowly starts to slip down the downward spiral to sleep.

.

Hajime really doesn’t want to stab Oikawa. Still, it is one of the last possibilities he has, so stabbing it will be.

He has decided to do it on the open street while being in the middle of a crowd. As soon as someone notices, Hajime will already be far, far away, mingling in the crowd.

The plan should work out well. Not long ago, Oikawa had begun taking a route which leads him through a busy street on his way home.

Hajime is standing at the side of the sidewalk, leaning against the wall behind him. He’s trying to look at his phone and acting all casual, as if only waiting for a friend to come pick him up.

As the digits on his phone announce that Oikawa should be here soon he put his mobile back in his pants. Shoving one hand into the pouch of his hoodie, he starts fiddling with the jackknife. He runs his fingers over the sharp edge of the steel as if to calm himself.

Right now, he really was nervous. Stabbing wasn’t his favorite way to kill someone off. He could literally have blood on his hands.

A wet drop hits the bridge of his nose, and another hits his cheek, until it begins pouring, the heavens giving it everything it's got.

Letting a groan out, he pulls the hood over his head, sheltering him from the rain, the heavens now a puddle of different shades of grey with lightning striking in the distance.

He’s always been fascinated by storms, they’ve always soothed him. Hearing raindrops pouring down on roofs, streets and umbrellas, he feels a calmness rising inside of him.

Hajime pushes himself away from the wall, starting to walk down the street so he can “accidentally” run into Oikawa.

The brunet is taller than the average so Hajime has no problem spotting him among the mass.

Here we go.

He closes his eyes and sighed, view directed to the ground to hide his face, before stumbling to the left, brushing the right half of Oikawa’s body. He immediately turns around to face Hajime.

“Oh. Pardon, I-”

Oikawa can’t finish his sentence, as Hajime pulls the knife out of his pocket, laying all the force and frustration he held against the guy into the movement. He aims straight for Oikawa’s solar plexus, but when he drags the knife into the other’s upper body, he is met with resistance. Oikawa gulps audibly over the river in his ears.

The knife hits something hard under Oikawa’s coat and Hajime’s eyes shoot open.

Realizing what has just happened, he rips the knife away, packing it into his pocket again and starts to disappear into the crowd and Oikawa, seemingly too shocked to even scream, just watches him go.

When Hajime is back in the safety of his apartment, he sinks into the couch. His mind has to catch up to what happened just now.

His breath hitches, and a deep fatigue spreads through his limbs. He lets his head fall onto the back of the couch and relaxes as the softness meets the back of his head.

Hajime isn’t quite sure if he is happy about not stabbing Oikawa or upset about not stabbing Oikawa. On one hand, he really doesn’t want to do it that way, but on the other, he just wants to get over with this. The guy annoys him to the core of his body, even without ever having interacted with him.

But if he is sure of something, it is the fact that this was getting ridiculous. A humorless laugh fills his living room as he gets to working on a new plan.

.

Tooru doesn’t know how long he has been standing in the pouring rain, watching the spot where his persecutor stood moments ago. He feels people rushing past him through the streets, sometimes brushing his shoulders, sending him to stumble on the spot.

He can’t wrap his mind around why someone tried to kill him, can’t think of anyone who wishes him his death.

Allowing the rain to drench his hair and clothes, he just remains at the same spot as if rooted to it while the thoughts inside his head behave like restless beasts. Pushing against his skull, conjuring a migraine.

Soon he feels as if the wetness has oozed into his bones, shivering from the cold he continued his walk home.

He considers going to the police, but what’s the use? They wouldn’t believe him anyway, he has no proof besides a sore throat and an even more shattered psyche, after all. And even if they believe him, what could they do? Surely not protect him.

Everything seems pointless. Now, when he has finally found the courage to get out of God’s Tree some fucking guy wants to murder him.

For fuck’s sake, he had to have been a terrible human in his past life.

He is lost in his thoughts when he arrives at his porch. He doesn’t even notice where he is going, but still his trembling feet manage to get him home.

The daily ritual of greeting Marshmallow and feeling something akin to happiness for the first time in nearly twenty-four hours repeats itself.

Smiling, he pulls the zipper of his coat down and is met with a dull thud, his body tense and he jerks back, seeing Marshmallow doing the same out of the corner of his eye.

Marshmallow lays his ears back, staring warily at the thing. And before Tooru can shush him, the dog goes all in, barking at the intruder.

Territorial bastard.

Tooru really loves the dog, but honestly, he is a devil in disguise. It took Tooru weeks to get to pet the dog without him trying to bite his hand off.

But he can also understand the dog’s distrust.

He had found Marshmallow when he was still a puppy. The dog strolled through the alleys where Tooru lived. At first glance you were able to see that he was a stray. His fur was blotched with filth and was frizzy. Of course Tooru couldn’t withstand the urge to save the poor, helpless thing.

Except, the dog wasn’t as helpless as he seemed.

Tooru couldn’t just take him. So he fed the dog every day until he won some trust and got him to follow him home. Still, he wasn’t allowed to touch him. Marshmallow obviously wasn’t used to furniture, so he tore it to shreds as well as he could.

But Tooru is a patient human being. He worked on the quirks of his dog and slowly, the dog started to behave and one day, he jumped onto the couch where Tooru was seated and just laid down on his lap.

The day after Marshmallow finally allowed Tooru to touch him, he washed the dog, thoroughly, and was very pleased to find out that his new companion is actually white. He earned a few bites for the washing and a cold shoulder for a few days, but the dog still came back to him in search of affection.

Tooru smiles at the memories. He is proud of Marshmallow, even though the dog still can’t handle strangers, but that’s nothing too problematic. Oikawa shifts his gaze to what is now presented in front of his feet and his smile slips.

A stack of papers, with a hole in the middle of most of them lies beneath him. All his work lies at his feet, torn apart. And of course he hadn’t made a backup of the whole thing.

God’s Tree can always search his laptop after all.

Frustration washes over him and his eyes begin to feel hot, as if ember is pressed over them.

He had hid the papers in his office, because he wanted to bring them to the press today. But on his way it started to rain and he shoved it inside his coat to shelter it.

Why did that asshat show up today of all days? Couldn’t he have tried to stab Tooru tomorrow?

Tooru feels as if the whole universe is against him and inferiority creeps into his blood, invading him like a virus.

But no. He has gained way too much pride now. This won’t shatter what he has built up over the years.

Tooru often had to pick himself up and put himself back together again, building everything up from the shattered remains of his past. He has been through the procedure several times. Building himself up again will surely not happen, because he won’t fall again.

He takes a deep breath, his throat still aching, and runs a hand down his face, swallowing the old friend called inferiority. How often has he felt this way?

He squeezes his eyes shut.

Tooru picks the stack up and pets Marshmallow’s head, to reassure him that the papers aren’t dangerous, before he makes his way to the kitchen, slamming the pile on the desk and then feeding Marshmallow.

As he sees his dog eating, his stomach starts to ache, reminding him that he, too, is only human and needs nutrition.

So Tooru goes to work. He puts on Starset songs and starts to cook.

His coping-mechanism isn’t the worst. Pushing the bad experiences into the furthest corner of his mind isn’t that bad of a way to process everything. Well, until it all crashes down. But that’s future melody. Tooru concentrates on the music blasting through his apartment and the chopping of vegetables for now.

He won’t give up and fall into a pit again. He will get out of this like the times before. He cuts the carrot with much more gusto than needed.

Tooru eats his vegan stir fry and walks Marshmallow around the block afterwards. The whole time he feels eyes boring into the back of his head. For the whole time he expects someone to jump in front of him and kill him.

Long shadows, casted by the moon frighten him.

While he is still feeling alive and able to survive, he also cleans the apartment after a long time. He takes every distraction he can get right now.

When he finishes all the chores he has postponed for weeks already, he sits down at the table again, looking at the paper stack.

The hole in it is deep. A few pages more and the knife would have touched Tooru’s skin. He gulps at the thought of it, thinks he can feel the tip of the cold metal blade on his chest. His fingers wander over the torn edges of the hole as he comes down from his high of hope. Grounded again, realization hits him like a bus.

He has to go to work tomorrow. He has to continue being a bad person tomorrow.

And suddenly all the hope is gone. From one second to the other, he falls into a dark hopeless pit again. That’s what his life currently is. A game of Snakes and Ladders.

A part of him wants to believe that he can do it, but another part of him wants to stop bothering.

He pulls his legs up to his chest, hugging his knees. Tears slide down his cheeks, like so many nights before, and he knows, this will be a long night again.

.

Over the past days Oikawa has changed the route he always takes when he walks his dog.

Usually, he just walks around the block and then goes back in, but now he takes an abandoned path through a forest nearby.

It’s presented on a silver tablet for Hajime to just shoot him the next time he walks through it again. People never wander through it and it’s far away from anyone who could hear the shot. Plus, Hajime won’t have blood on his hands, he wouldn’t really see the mess. It is perfect.

He knocks five times before the door swings open, revealing a rather disheveled Bokuto, who squints at him. Apparently he just waltzed out of bed and forgot to put his glasses on.

Hajime doesn’t possess a weapon anymore, but Bokuto works only with them, so it didn’t take Hajime long to figure he would be a great help.

Bokuto crooks his head and squints even more, his head getting closer and closer to Hajime’s, who just huffs at the stupid view. He looks like a rather confused animal.

When Bokuto finally realizes who is in front of him, Hajime is not sure if it’s because of the huff or if Bokuto was able to finally make his face out, he pulls back, a wide grin spreading on his face.

“You! I really didn’t expect you! Come in!” Bokuto’s voice is loud and dripping with excitement as always.

Leaving the door open for Hajime, he bounces back into his apartment, hitting his shin on the couch and howling at the pain.

All Hajime can do is roll his eyes and close the door.

“You aren’t really cautious for a Hitman,” he states while walking to the couch, avoiding all the stuff lying around Bokuto’s floor, “I could have been anyone, trying to kill you. It wouldn’t have been hard.”

“If you are trying to scare me, it’s not working!” Bokuto screams through the apartment, apparently getting his glasses.

And yes, when he emerges into Hajime’s view again, big, round glasses are seated on his nose, making his eyes look like saucers.

Bokuto is something to look at right now. Dressed in only sweatpants, usually styled hair down and ruffled and sleeping marks all over his body.

He flops down next to Hajime, tucking his left leg under his body to properly face his guest. Hajime, seated on the arm of the couch, squirms ungracefully to face Bokuto too.

“So,” he starts, “I was wondering, do you coincidentally have a M24?”

Bokuto’s eyes widen ridiculously and he stutters eloquently, “Why are you always so blunt?”

“You are one to talk,” Hajime cuts in, but Bokuto just goes on like he hadn’t heard him.

“Of course I have one. What do you need it for?”

“Why do you ask so many questions?” he nearly whines, not in the mood for Bokuto’s teasing. Well, he is never in the mood for his teasing.

“I’m concerned,” Hajime snorts at that, but Bokuto won’t get distracted and continues, “do you even know how to use one?”

Slowly, Hajime closes his eyes and oh so slowly opens them again. Watching Bokuto twitch with a blank expression.

“What do you think I used in the army? Fucking toy guns?”

Bokuto just shrugs and gets up, walking to what he always refers to as ‘work space’ and shouts to Hajime, “You need ammunition too?”

Hajime hums in approval and Bokuto comes back with a new looking M24 and one bullet.

“Only one left, you need more?”

“No. I guess one will be enough. I don’t want to maltreat the guy.” Hajime extends an arm for Bokuto to give him the things.

The other hitman reaches the weapon and bullet over only to pull back before Hajime can lay a finger on it.

“Is this still about the guy from last time?” he asks with a crooked grin.

Hajime sighs through gritted teeth, “Stabbing didn’t work, I don’t want to talk about it now give me the damn thing before I ram the last bullet into your head.”

Bokuto rushes some OK’s out and passes the things to Hajime. He gets up and walks to the door, letting himself out and saying a quick “Thank you” over his shoulder.

Immediately, he strides to his old car, the weight of the weapon familiar in his arms as nostalgia rushes over him. He places the sniper on the car seats and buries the bullet in his pocket.

When he arrives at his destination, it’s already bitingly cold, the wind blowing through his hair. The peaceful smell of the wood calming like the company of a good friend. It doesn’t take him long to find a spot where he can lure.

Near the path where Oikawa will walk is a hill on which he won’t be able to see Hajime.

With a grunt, he sits down onto the soft moss and loads the weapon after setting it up so he has a free line of fire. Laying down onto his stomach, right index finger already on the trigger, he looks through the visor and waits.

Not long after he arrives, he spots the chestnut curls he waited for with a white furball running around in front of him. Oikawa looks miserable, even more than in the coffee shop. His eyes are heavily lidded, and with empty eyes, he watches the ground. Hajime’s index finger tenses.

He aims for Oikawa’s temple and pulls the trigger, just as the dog jerks forward, letting Oikawa lose his hold on the leash. Hajime hears the shot, sees the bullet hit the tree behind Oikawa. He stumbles before putting his left foot in exactly the wrong place. And then Oikawa disappears from the visor. Hajime lifts his head in confusion, only seeing as the dog looks down the slope, wiggling his tail. Hajime already hates the dog.

His instinct kicks in.

Gathering the weapon and tripod up, he starts to run through the thicket towards his car. He can hear the dog barking and maybe it’s his imagination playing tricks on him, but he thinks he can hear the barking get louder behind him.

Hajime rips the backdoor of his car open after fiddling with the key to unlock it. Throwing the things in he jogs around the vehicle and sits down behind the steering wheel. For a short moment he lets his head rest against the wheel, regulating his breath, before hitting the pedal and driving home. His body is tense with frustration and his jaw is so clenched, it almost hurts.

This is getting so ridiculous, it’s bordering pathetic.

.

Tooru opens his eyes again while violently coughing. Blinking a few times he takes in his surroundings.

Brown and green blotches appear in his vision, swirling together to a single and then back again to different colors.

He pushes himself up with his arms, looking up at the slope into Marshmallow’s happy face. The tree behind where he stood mere seconds ago breathes out smoke and Tooru squints, oblivious to what just happened.

Slowly, he gets up. Moving all of his body parts and pats his hands over himself. Every bone in his body aches, but nothing seems serious, so he climbs up the hillside.

When he reaches the top he flops right down onto his back again, breathing way too heavily for the little effort he had. His ribs are drumming on his heart as he gazes at the sky, tessellated by leaves and needles of trees. Suddenly, he feels Marshmallow’s rough wet tongue all over the right side of his face.

Making a sound of feigned disgust he sits back up again, petting his dog and taking the leash back in his hand.

He still has no clue what happened as he walks towards the fir which had been behind him before. It has stopped smoking and now Tooru can see it. A silver thing pressed into the cracked wood. A bullet.

Abruptly, he can recall the loud noise when he fell. Apparently someone tried to shoot him just now. He jerks away from the tree as if the bullet could still kill him.

He gathers Marshmallow protectively into his his arms and jogs out of the forest, as tears rush down his face, leaving trails, touched by icy fingers, behind.

When he finally is in the buzzing streets of Tokyo again, he sets his dog down. Roughly, he rubs a hand over his face to get rid off the stray tears. Shallow breaths leave his lungs, way too fast for it to be considered healthy. Blood is gushing through his head as he slowly continues walking.

Being alone today is something he wants to avoid at all costs, so he doesn’t turn into the street where his apartment is located, but walks past it.

Marshmallow is cradled to his chest again, kept there in place with his right arm as he knocks three times with his left hand.

The door slowly opens, flooding the hallway with a comforting orange light.

“Oikawa?” Ushijima’s thick eyebrows are furrowed in surprise and Tooru sees a tuft of red hair appear behind his shoulder, “What are you doing here?”

Ushijima’s voice is confused and thick with worry. Tooru hasn’t thought about it. He has to look like a mess currently, besides he never really held a meaningful conversation with them.

Hell, he didn’t even like them.

He can literally taste bitter desperation on his tongue.

Tooru takes a deep breath, “Can I come in? Please?”

Both, Ushijima and Tendou, just step away from the door in answer.

He follows the hallway, as if he’s been here thousands of times already, and is met with the sight of a couch. Coincidentally, he walked straight to where he wanted to be.

Flopping down on the couch, he strokes Marshmallow’s fur. From the corner of his eye he can see Ushijima’s disgruntled expression at the dog in his lap.

Tooru just closes his eyes, too tired to care about Ushijima’s distaste for dogs.

“So,” Tendou’s voice cuts through the silence, “why are you here looking all, how do I put this, fucked up?”

Tooru couldn’t be mad at Tendou’s choice of words. Only now he realizes he must look like a personificated mess.

“I just need a place to sleep tonight,” Tooru whispers. He will tell them that it’s because he’s afraid of being alone over his dead body

Tendou’s mouth is already open as Ushijima cuts him off, “You can stay here. But the dog is not allowed on the couch.”

Tooru pouts at him but puts Marshmallow on the ground even though.

Instead of closing his mouth, Tendou shoots a question at Tooru, “Is everything alright with you? Do you want to talk about it?”

He feels sick by the worry in Tendou’s voice, feels his intestines wind around each other.

In a voice as cheery as he can master, he answers, “Everything’s alright, don’t worry.”

Tooru feels his eyes roll back, as always when he lies. The good thing, neither of the men across him know him so well so that they could know that. He just feigns a smile at them, subtly telling them he won’t answer any more questions.

Tendou just shrugs and walks into the next room, coming back with a blanket and pillow. Tooru takes it from him, thanking him. Tendou graces him with a small compassionate smile and Tooru thinks for a moment his eyes shine like he knows.

Tooru gulps and looks up to Ushijima, who he hasn’t even noticed leaving the room earlier. He extends a hand to Tooru with some sweatpants and a shirt on it.

For a moment, he hesitates, before taking the clothes and reasoning that sleeping in jeans is uncomfortable. Tendou gets him a bottle of water and they awkwardly wish each other a good night before Tendou and Ushijima disappear into their bedroom.

Tooru tries to get cushy on the couch, which is too small for his height and too hard for his liking. But he won’t complain. He rather sleeps on an uncomfortable couch, than by himself in his lonely, unsave apartment.

This night, Tooru gets lulled into sleep by the feeling of not being alone and the hushed whispers from behind the closed door, clearly questioning his sanity.

The apartment is empty as he wakes up the next morning. The sun dipping the room into a soft warm color, letting the world seem a little brighter.

Tooru gets up and dresses back into his clothes. He folds the blanket and the lend clothes, placing them neatly onto the sofa.

As he leaves, he notices a note sticked to the front door. In a fluid motion, he rips it off and reads over it.

Good Morning,  
we had to leave early, sorry. We may not know or even like each other that well, but Wakatoshi and I aren’t bad people. So, if you ever need a place to stay again or just want to talk, we’re here.  
And here’s my number, just in case.

XXXX-XXXX

Tooru’s chest fills with warmth at the kindness of the two. Even though his face had scrunched up a bit at reading Ushijima’s given name. Carefully, he folds the piece of paper and shoved it into his pocket.

As he steps out into the cold morning, not feeling as alone as before anymore.

.

“I’m done. It’s enough,” Hajime states while watching Kuroo getting comfortable on his couch. His visitor takes all the space for himself like he owns it, flopping his long limbs all over the place like the lazy cat he is.

Hajime rolls his eyes at the all too familiar behaviour.

He invited him over because it is Kuroo’s turn to return a favour and Hajime knows exactly what he wants from him.

“So,” Kuroo sounds slightly bored as he closes his eyes, “what do you want me to do?”

“I want you to make diethyl ether.”

Kuroo opens his eyes in which a glint of mischief is to be seen, his cheshire smile back in place. A shudder runs down Hajime’s spine at the view.

Kuroo can look very intimidating, as long as he doesn’t try to do so. Most of the time he looks naturally like someone you wouldn’t want to fuck with. But whenever he actually tries to frighten someone, he looks ridiculous.

“And why would I do that? Do you know how tiring it is to make concentrated diethyl?” Kuroo asks with a raised eyebrow.

“I don’t know shit about chemistry and you are very aware of that, so no,” he deadpans only to receive a snort from the lanky man on his worn couch.

“Well then, listen up,” Kuroo closes his eyes again and rises an index finger, “you can’t just make diethyl like that. You get it as a byproduct when you produce ethanol through a hydration reaction. It’s pretty easy to do that, but the amount of diethyl you get out of it is not worth it. So no, I won’t do that.”

It’s Hajime crosses his arms and looks down at Kuroo, who has his eyes cracked open again, with a face as if chiseled into marvel, “I guess you’ve forgotten about the little favour I did you weeks ago? The doppelganger incident?”

Hajime has to smirk at Kuroo’s bewildered look.

“Oh fuck you,” Kuroo seems more amused than angry and Hajime is glad for it. Now he gets at least some diethyl.

“When do you need it? How much do you even need?”

“As soon as you can and so much it can knock out a grown man.”

“Sweet jesus. That’s a lot.” Kuroo whines breathless and looks slightly distressed at Hajime, as if he would change his mind if Kuroo just looks pleadingly at him, batting his lashes a little.

Hajime just shakes his head, still smirking.

Kuroo groans and gets up, “Well. I don’t have anything to do anyways. Kenma is still gone after all.”

He shrugs and walks over to the door, Hajime follows.

“Have you at least heard of them?”

“No. And to be honest, I’m a little worried,” his jaw is tense, so tense it has to hurt, “normally, they are back after one week at worst, but this is already taking too long.”

Hajime grabs Kuroo’s upper arm and squeezes it reassuringly, “Kenma’s a smart person and it’s not like they can’t fend for themself,” Kuroo still doesn’t look convinced, but a little more hopeful, “If anything happens or if you just don’t want to be alone, you can come over. It’s not like I have a real job anyway.”

Both of them laugh at the statement and after Kuroo mumbles a thanks he goes to his own, empty apartment.

.

Not long after, Kuroo stands at Hajime’s doorstep again, a dark bottle in his hands and a stupid, arrogant grin plastered on his face.

“I’m here to deliver,” he says while wiggling his eyebrows.

“Thanks,” Hajime mumbles as he tries to take the bottle but Kuroo takes a step back, holding it out of reach. Hajime doesn’t understand why everyone does that, so he scowls and grits his teeth, “What?”

“We are even now, aren’t we?” Kuroo asks, looking suspicious now with his eyebrows raised. Hajime is afraid they will melt with his hairline.

Rolling his eyes, he answers, “Yes we are.”

A genuine smile represses the one from before on Kuroo’s lips. He nods and passes Hajime the bottle, already turning away to go again.

Perplexed and with a heavy bottle in his arms Hajime just stares at Kuroo’s back as he walks away.

Striding back into his apartment he shuts the door with his right leg and glances at the clock. 10:47 p.m.

Good time to start his, hopefully, last attempt to end this.

It’s 11:25 p.m. when Hajime is in his car in front of the building Oikawa lives in with all the stuff he needs.

He grabs the huge piece of paper and unfolds it, looking over the straight lines showing the construction of the building.

There is something like a storage room besides Oikawa’s apartment in which is a trap to the air conditioning system which is connected to Oikawa’s. Hajime will place the the diethyl there, so it can seep into the rooms Oikawa is in.

First of all, he has to switch the conditioning on. The bottle and all the other things are in the backpack, so he kneels before the front door, fiddling with the lock to get it open.

When the satisfying click rings in his ears, he pushes the door open and steps into the building. The walls are a plain white and it smells new.

Hajime immediately makes his way to the staircase, going down into the basement where the control system of the conditioning is. Gladly, no one is there awaiting him.

In an eerie silence he presses the buttons to get Oikawa’s ventilation to work. The machine rumbles and gives away that it’s on.

With a hum, he turns around, stalking the stairs up to Oikawa’s floor. He passes white wall by white wall as he finally reaches the storage room.

He rattles at the knob and the door is sealed, of course. Rolling his eyes he sinks down on his knees again and repeats the process from before. There are no noises, letting the building seem as if not a soul lives there. Lost in the silence, he’s startled at the click from the door.

Hajime rises to his feet and gets in, slowly closing the door again and turning the light on. As he spots the trap, he puts his backpack on the floor and pulls the bottle out, placing it beside his feet. Next, he gets a small screwdriver and turns to the trap.

After a while, he holds four screws in his hand, their cold weight pressing into his palm through the gloves. Shoving them into his pouch, he reaches into the bag again and pulls a gas mask out. After he covered his face with it, he fetches the washcloth and pours the bottle content over it.

I’m going to murder Kuroo if this shit doesn’t work.

He places the cloth into the shaft and sinks onto the ground. Kuroo told him it will probably take twenty minutes to knock Oikawa out, but if he wants to be sure, he should wait twenty-five. So Hajime does that.

Hajime fiddles with the jackknife again, his heart beating faster than normal. Plainly because he knows he has to slit a throat again. The first time after years. Goosebumps rise over his skin at the mere thought of visible blood on his hands.

While he sits there, thoughts start to form inside his head. Originally, he had planned to get in the apartment, slit Oikawa’s throat and then get the fuck out. But as he sees the rope on the wall across of him, his frustration gets the better of him. He will let Oikawa know why he’s here and how annoying he has been the last months.

It’s getting hot in the small room, so he pulls the sleeves of his hoodie back, even though he knows there is no use to it.

Hajime glances at his left underarm, seeing the strings of dead roses twist around his arm, the fourteen wilted roses mocking him again.

With a sigh, he glances at the clock in his pocket only to see that twenty-seven minutes have already passed.

Hajime gets a plastic bag and stands up. Reaching inside the shaft, he pulls the cloth out and lets it fall into the beg, setting it aside. He secures the trap again and pockets the screwdriver. On his way out, he grabs the rope and drapes it loosely around his neck.

Hajime locks the door to the storage room again as soon as he stepped out of it. Stepping down the hallway, he reaches the white door to Oikawa’s apartment.

He presses the side of his head against it, but nothing except for music is being heard. Going down on his knees for the god-knows how many time that day, he unlocks the door with skilled fingers.

At the click he gets up and pushes the door open.

Warmth mingled with the smell of lavender and vanilla hits his senses. Loud music rings inside his head as he steps into the hallway. Right next to the door is a small regulator for the A/C. With a fast movement he turns the conditioning off again. After all he has decided he wants to talk to Oikawa at first.

By the time he reaches the living room, he has already made out the band that’s playing in the background.

Starset? Not bad.

Oikawa is not in the living room, as Hajime assumed he would be, but instead laying face first, upper body spread over the table while still seated on the chair. Hajime puts his backpack beside the couch and walks over to the knocked out body.

He takes the chance and pushes Oikawa properly onto the furniture, noticing that he actually wears glasses. Hajime grabs the rest of the chair and shoves the furnishing together with Oikawa across the floor till he’s placed across the arm of the couch.

Taking a deep breath to reassure himself that this will be fine, he starts tying Oikawa to the chair.

While his hands rush over the rope to tie knots he is lost in the music in the background, soothing him as best as it can.

A shrill noise rips him out of his mind and he swirls his head around, but before he can even react a sharp ache rushes through his whole body. A low agonized grumble leaves his mouth and he looks at the cause for the pain.

Oikawa’s dog is currently trying to bite his foot off.

“For fuck’s sake, I forgot the stupid dog!” he breathes through gritted teeth.

While the dog is occupied with taking a bite of Hajime, the latter grabs the white demon by his neck like a cat. Startled at the contact, the dog lets go of his leg and Hajime gets up, still holding the dog, who is currently spinning around angrily, trying to bite Hajime again.

He watches the dog in his grip for a while with a confused look. The animal makes sounds like a rabid raccoon.

“Do you have to compensate your unavailable height with acoustic greatness?” he asks the dog with a soft voice and a crooked eyebrow.

The furball actually shuts up at that, to Hajime’s amusement. He actually chuckles and limps over to what he assumes is Oikawa’s bedroom. Turns out he is right about it.

He puts the dog down onto the bed and before he can get up again, Hajime says ‘stay’ in a warning voice. And magically, the dog lays down, even though he still growls at him.

He turns on his heels and hobbles out of the bedroom again, closing the door. The bite hurts like a bitch.

“How did he get this beast under control?” Hajime mutters to himself as he rips door after door open in search for the bathroom.

After the fourth door, he finds it. He pulls the watch out of his pocket again and looks at it. He’s been here for half an hour now, Kuroo told him Oikawa will be unconscious for at least one and a half hours. An approving hum passes his lips and he pockets the watch again.

Looking around the room he finds what he searched for, the first aid kit, towering over towels in the most obnoxious colors he has ever seen.

This whole situation is ridiculous and he is very aware of that fact.

I’ll be damned if I get god-knows what kind of disease because of that fucker.

He rips the kit open and pulls out some sanitizer, cotton pads and a bandage.

The dog has bitten through the thin material of Hajime’s black pants. The fabric is sticking to his skin due to the blood and carefully, he shoves the pant leg up, hissing at the friction, to reveal the wound.

“Thank god Oikawa doesn’t own a fucking shepherd,” he mumbles under his breath as he inspects the wound. For a dog that tiny it looked very bad.

After he had sanitized and patched the injury up, he cleans everything up, trying to get rid of evidences. Putting the kit back in its place, he gathers everything that touched his skin or even blood in one hand and walks back into the living room. The wound still hurts, but it is bearable. Back in the living room, he drops the putative evidences into the plastic bag with the diethyl cloth.

As he wants to continue with the tying up, he spots two bowls on the ground by the wall.

Groaning, he walks over to pick them up. The dog may be a prick but he only defends his home and Hajime doesn’t know when someone will find Oikawa’s body.

He doesn’t want the animal to suffer. The bowls are still filled with water and food, so he won’t have to search for it.

In front of the bedroom door again, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath again, “OK. So, here’s the deal: You stay where you are and shut up and I will give you something to eat and drink. Deal?”

He waits in front of the door as if expecting an answer. With his right elbow he pushes the door handle down and shoves the door open.

Black marbles are eying him suspiciously from the floor and for a while he just stands in the door frame and squints at the dog. Certain that the animal won’t do anything, he puts the bowls down to his right.

The dog’s eyes finally leave him as he happily jumps towards the water and food. With a wiggling tail, the pomeranian starts to eat.

Hajime may be a hitman, but the little dog is still endearing. He crouches down and pulls the mask off his head, placing it onto his thighs.

“I bet you have a stupid name. All pomeranians have stupid names,” he starts talking to the dog, pulling his right glove off and letting the hand hover of the white fur.

The animal eyes his hand warily with his ears laid back. He sniffs at Hajime’s hand and makes a noise that sounds approving before he gets back to eating. Hajime snorts and pets the dog for a while.

Glancing at his watch again, he realizes that there is only half an hour left before Oikawa probably wakes up.

“See you, little fella,” he says in goodbye while pulling the glove on again.

Hajime makes his way back to the limp body that’s halfway tied onto a chair. Storing the mask back into his bag, he heaves a breath and continues to tie Oikawa up.

With every more knot, with every more second his head gets fizzier. By the time he does the last knot, his fingers are shaking involuntarily and his whole body is drenched in heat, like thrown into a fire. Hajime gets up and sits down onto the arm of the couch, his right leg bouncing heavily while he grazes his fingertips over the cold blade of the knife again. He can feel how his aura is getting gloomier and gloomier by the seconds.

His blood is gushing through his veins and it feels like the capillaries will detonate. Burying his teeth into his lips until he can taste iron on his tongue. His ankle is still pulsating and he tries to get lost in the music still running in the background.

Hajime closes his eyes, pressing the heel of his palm onto his eyes.

It will be over soon.

.

Tooru’s head feels like someone removed his brain and exchanged it with cotton. His mouth is fuzzy, as if he has slept too long and there is a buzzing in his ears he can’t make out.

His lids feel too heavy, like they are glued on his eyes. He can’t bring himself to open them.

With a growl he wants to rub his hands over his face, but they won’t move. Squinting his eyes even more, he tries to move his feet. Nothing. His movements are restricted. Something rough and scratchy is burying itself into the skin of his ankles and wrists.

Finally, he gets to open his eyes and is met with blurred colors. After steadying his gaze, he can make out that he’s currently looking at his chest and lap, beige snakes twirling around his upper body.

An ache builds up inside his hazy head and he realises he’s sitting. As he tries to get up he is yet again restrained by the tendrils of beige rambling around his body.

Tooru’s train of thoughts is interrupted by a low grumble. The words sounding slurred to him but he can still make them out.

“Finally. I already thought I gave you an overdose.”

Tooru raises his head, everything is smudged again but he concentrates on what’s in front of him.

He moans in discomfort as he makes the silhouette out in front of him. Mere meters before him, a man is sitting on the arm of his couch.

“Where is my dog?” he asks and his voice sounds remote.

There is a chuckle from opposite of him and Tooru furrows his brows.

“He’s fine. He’s in in your bedroom with food and water.”

Tooru breaths out reassured and lets his head fall down again, chin resting on his chest now. Are those really snakes?

Tooru doesn’t know how long he sits there like this, but suddenly he is very aware of his surroundings, Starset still playing in the background, the ropes against his flesh and the man across of him.

He feels almost normal again. The cotton in his head almost gone but still, his tongue feels heavy.

He jerks his head up, studying the features of the man across him, recognizing the deep green eyes.

“You are the barista from the coffee shop. What the hell is going on?” he asks with furrowed brows.

Tooru earns a surprised look with a glint of amusement in between his features.

“Oh,” the stranger speaks up, “didn’t think you would remember me.”

A predator like smile is playing around his lips.

“But I do. How could I forget those eyes?”

If his hands were free now, he would slap them over his mouth. His brain to mouth filter seems to be even less available than usually.

Luckily, the man doesn’t even answer it and just starts to talk about what he wants, as he sinks his head to look at his hands. Tooru’s gaze follows and he can see something reflecting the light in his hands. As the man turns his hand a little, Tooru sees it’s a jackknife.

His jaw drops, but he talks nonetheless, “Please tell me you have that to cut my ties.”

Tooru has no idea what his voice sounds like right now, if it’s steady, filled with the fright he feels or only a whisper. Dread clings around his intestines and his throat is a desert.

The man across him looks dumbfounded, as if Tooru had just stated that Japan is a part of Austria.

“Oh dear, shut up,” he tells Tooru while crooking his head, “the knife is supposed to slit your throat.”

The stranger looks at the knife almost helpless, Tooru lets out a strangled breath.

“Why?”

It is all Tooru can get out and he is pretty convinced that his voice sound broken. He can't breath and his clothes cling to his body with a cold sweat.

The intruder looks almost upset by the question, a thick layer of intimidation surrounding him as his voice, that’s even thicker rings through the room, “Why? Because you raped a patient and then murdered them. That’s why. Don’t you feel any remorse? And over the past weeks I literally thought deep down you would regret it,” he pauses to look back at Tooru and his green eyes glisten with anger and disgust, not the first time Tooru is at the receiving end of such a look, “do you even know how much luck you had in the past time?”

Tooru can’t hold the laugh back. Luck? He? Of course, so much luck he can’t even contain it.

Only now it clicks what the man said.

He did what?

All of his nerves scream at him to tell the truth, that he has done nothing wrong. No, that would be a lie. Tooru is achingly aware of the fact that he has committed many errors, but he did not rape and murder someone.

Thoughts are racing through his head and he is too petrified to say something.

“Ah,” Tooru didn’t know the man could look even more frightening, “you think that’s funny? Then you will surely laugh at what I’m going to tell you next: I poisoned the coffee you dropped, I tried to suffocate you when you head butted me, I tried to stab you when you were saved by something in your coat and I tried to shoot you when your fucking dog decided to change the direction.”

With every more sentence, the man leans more and more into Tooru’s space, all while his words get quieter and quieter, until his last sentence is only a hushed breath.

The deep but low sound of his voice is filling Tooru’s ears, tensing his nerves. With every spoken word, Tooru flinches more and more, the only thing holding him up the ropes around his body.

Tooru feels like he can’t breath, all the air is knocked out of him by the sheer power of the words leaving the man’s mouth.

He’s not sure if he’s afraid or angry. This asshole made his life ten times worse than it already was.

Somewhere deep inside of him, he finds the strength to speak again, even though it’s only a whisper. Tooru doesn’t know if his voice is low or whimpered.

“Who told you that?” as if saying those words costed him all his remaining force, his head falls again.

He hears a huffed breath, “Your boss, the guy from Stratic, told me.”

As those words seep into Tooru’s brain, he feels like new energy trickles into him as well.

He whips his head up again and pushes words through his gritted teeth, “They lie! They all lie! I have never done anything bad out of my own will! Whatever disgusting things I’ve done, I was forced to do them,” his words are only a growl as he keeps shouting shaking words, “you may not believe me, that’s OK, I wouldn’t believe myself either. But I have evidences. And if you don’t believe me, then maybe you trust Stratic itself.”

No word is spoken after that, the only sounds are the music and the wailing of Marshmallow from his bedroom. He has to resist looking over, too afraid to stop watching the man.

“Where are the evidences?” he asks in a defeated voice.

“Bathroom, four tiles into the room and then two left, this one’s loose. It’s under there.”

Tooru earns a raised eyebrow at this, screaming ‘seriously’ at him.

“I’m sorry I’m paranoid, but someone,” he glares at the man across him, “tried to kill me a few times and Stratic is always able to look through my apartment.”

The intruder shakes his head and gets up with a huff, walking over to the bathroom. Tooru’s eyes never leaving him. He spots a white bandage around his ankle.

Only now, he realizes that he sounds not a bit frightened by the words he chooses to say. His wobbly voice may give him away, but he is still cynical and talks to the guy as if they had known each other for a long time already.

Tooru is ripped out of his thoughts as the man emerges back into the room and ungracefully flops down onto the armrest again. The new stack of evidences on his lap, which Tooru had written all over again.

“You know, this is the second one I wrote. Someone decided to stab a jackknife into the first one.”

Tooru really doesn’t know why he won’t shut up.

His opponent lifts his head and looks at him with a blank unreadable face.

“Huh, secret solved, I guess,” he says in an indifferent voice as he continues to read over the papers and Tooru has no idea what he means.

While the time passes, Tooru observes the man. He figures he has to be a hitman if Stratic told the guy to murder him. Tooru doesn’t think he looks like a hitman. In his head, hitmen are old, bald and tall. The guy in front of him was nothing like that.

OK, he is very intimidating and also impressively muscular, but still. Also, Tooru always thought hitmen aren’t that good looking besides their muscles. But no, the guy across him proves him wrong. Sometimes, Tooru hates his chlichéd mind.

He may has tried to kill Tooru multiple times, but he could still appreciate his beauty.

He seems to be in Tooru’s age. What has to happen to someone so young to become a hitman?

Tooru shouldn’t think about what is wrong with the lives of other people while he is being tied to a chair, mere minutes away from having his throat slit.

He watches as the other man bites on his lip, brows furrowed, his eyes showing slight disbelief.

Tooru looks at the bandage around the man’s ankle, trying to figure out where he got the wound, as the voice of said man pulls him back into reality again.

“Holy shit,” it sounds like a breath, merged with words, knocked out of the hitman’s chest.

“They locked ninety people into a room for days, without water or food, only with a bucket of salt water? Just to see if they would rather die from starvation, dehydration or an overdose of salt? They sewed fucking half-twins or twins together to see if a new creature could arise? And what the hell is this ‘Gateway of mind’ shit? I swear, if this-”

He doesn’t finish the sentence as he is interrupted by the loud sobs of Tooru, whose head is resting on his chest again, body shaking violently from all the hiccups. Tears, seemingly unstoppable, stream down his face. Breathing is getting harder and harder with every second, remorse coiled itself around his lungs, clawing its thorns into him.

Having all the horrible things read out only makes matters worse. Tooru wants to run away, not able to face his faults. Pictures, scents and sounds flood his mind and all he wants to do is get rid of them. He has suppressed all the impressions for so long, it all comes back stronger than ever now.

Having it read out is a proof for him that it really happened, he really saw those things, did them. It isn’t something he made up in his head. It is real.

Tooru hears a thump and the next moments his body is freed from the ropes. Instantly, he pushes his hands to his face, hiding in his palms. The edge of his glasses burying into his skin. His sobs are getting louder and his body is shaking more and more with every new tear.

Suddenly, there is something warm on his knees and he jerks up, grabbing the edge of the chair.

What he sees is not exactly what he expected.

The hitman is kneeling in front of him, his hands on Tooru’s knees and there are silent tears oozing out from his eyes, the green shining even more now.

Tooru can see how his facial muscles twitch and how he tries to tense his jaw to stop it.

“I’m so sorry,” he breathes out.

With this, all the anger Tooru has felt against the man is gone. The relief and delight he feels of finally having told someone about all of it, about them even believing him outweighing all the hate.

Tooru gulps and manages to crack a smile, “Sorry for making your life hard.”

He is met with a honest endearing smile from across him.

“How about a deal,” the man shudders as the words leave his mouth.

.

Hajime has never seen a man this broken.

Guilt is biting into his flesh, holding him down and it’s painfully visible. He nearly killed an innocent man based on false information. And his friends wonder why he has trust issues.

He doesn’t know if he’s crying because of that or because of all the terrible things that happened to Oikawa. He does have compassion, even though being a hitman.

A cluster of fuzzy colors spreads in his mind, he’s not able to make his feelings out.

All his senses shout at him to go, go, go, and leave this behind.

But he can’t leave the sobbing mess in front of him and before he notices the words are out of his mouth.

“How about a deal.”

Oikawa rises his head and looks at him through puffy eyes. The tears let his eyes seem like melted chocolate.

Hajime waits patiently until Oikawa has calmed down enough to breathe normally again. The latter puts his glasses down and rubs over his face, getting rid of the humidity which leaves his skin glistening.

“What deal?” his voice is strained and Hajime can hear the dryness.

“Sit on the couch. I will get you your dog.” Hajime says while standing up, Oikawa nods mindlessly and looks at him with pure blankness.

As he opens the door to the bedroom, he hears Oikawa’s exaggerated scream, “No! Wait! He’s a beast!”

“As if I wouldn’t know that already,” Hajime chuckles in answer and the white furball skips happily towards him. As he stands in front of Hajime he looks up with a crooked head, as if to ask “And now?”

Hajime picks him up and cradles the dog to his chest, “Guess what? You still have an owner.”

As he looks away from the dog back to Oikawa, the man is sitting on the sofa with his knees pushed up to his chest, mouth ajar. He stares at Hajime like he just nonchalantly picked up a scorpion.

“What?” he asks with furrowed brows while walking over to the furniture.

Oikawa shifts his position so he’s sitting cross legged now. Hajime sits the animal down onto his legs.

The dog is seemingly delighted that his owner is still in one piece as he jabs and moves around in Oikawa’s lap like a tornado.

“How did you get him to allow you touching him? It took me fucking weeks and you just stomp in my apartment and have an immediate bond with my dog?” he says, awestruck, as he combs through the white fur.

A smile graces Hajime’s lips, hued with bitterness, “Well, first of all he tried to bite my foot off, but after that we got along pretty well.”

Oikawa doesn’t even look up, his eyes widen with happiness as he looks at the dog, still squirming on his lap, “I love this dog so much.”

His voice is a mere whisper.

Hajime doesn’t know when the atmosphere around them shifted to almost friendly. He also doesn’t know why it’s easy for him to talk to Oikawa, or why Oikawa isn’t bothered by talking to him. A normal reaction would be to scream, to try to run off.

Oikawa is everything except normal, so much Hajime knows by now.

“Anyway, what’s the deal?” he asks as he glues his eyes to Hajime.

“I will help you to get out of this situation, help you shatter Stratic and get away with it,” Hajime begins, “but in return, you won’t tell the police about me.”

Oikawa squints his eyes, “How will you get me out of this situation?”

“I will come up with something,” he answers while letting himself fall against the rest.

“Fine,” Oikawa agrees after a short time.

Hajime gets up abruptly and clasps his hands, the dog rising his head at the sudden noise, “Good. Pack your stuff and come on.”

Bewilderment spreads over Oikawa’s features as he looks at Hajime in a silent question.

“What? Did you think you can stay here? In the apartment Stratic knows you live? Are you stupid?” he taunts.

Oikawa puts the dog on the floor, pouts and walks around the apartment while mumbling things akin to “I’m not stupid, fuck you.”

Hajime watches as Oikawa stumbles through the apartment, throwing random things in a suitcase until he seems ready and walks over to Hajime.

“If I come with you, we need to buy food for Marshmallow,” Oikawa states, serious.

Hajime needs some time to comprehend what Oikawa just said. What, Marshmallow? What does Oikawa mea-. Oh.

A snort rumbles through his body as he tries to hold a laugh back, but he fails and his low chuckles fill the apartment. Hajime can’t stop himself.

“OK. I knew the dog would have a stupid name, but come on,” he manages to breath out. Oikawa looks tense and his face is tinted in crimson.

“Oh, shut up,” Oikawa murmurs while stalking past Hajime, Marshmallow following him.

Hajime looks over his shoulder and spots the stack of papers still on the couch. He walks over and picks it up, leaving the apartment and striding down the staircase.

Oikawa is already in front of his car, tapping his foot impatiently.

Hajime unlocks the vehicle and heaves Oikawa’s luggage into the trunk while the other man gets in the car.

He slams the trap shut and gets seated behind the steering wheel. As he starts the engine, he watches Oikawa carefully. He’s looking out of the window and something on his cheek catches the light from the street lamps.

A single tear rolls down his face and Hajime doesn’t comment on it.

He drives to the nearest twenty-four hour shop he knows and Oikawa leaves the car to get the dog food.

.

The garish light of the shop hurts Tooru’s still sensitive eyes.

Mindlessly, he wanders through the aisles in search of the right food. Marshmallow is a picky eater, after all. Tooru spoils the dog and he knows it, but how could he not?

As soon as he finds the right one, he stalks towards the cash register and only then, when the adrenaline left his limbs, reality dawns on him.

He’s currently driving to the home of guy, he doesn’t even know, to stay there. He’s currently driving to a hitman’s home.

For a short moment, his heart rate speeds up and he thinks about running away. But the dog food in his hands reminds him that Marshmallow is still in the car.

He shakes the tingling feeling off. The guy doesn’t seem like a bad person in general. He surely won’t hurt him. At least, that’s what he tells himself.

Maybe he is some kind of serial killer who liked to torture his victims, physically and psychologically? Maybe he wants to earn his trust, only to break it after he gets bored? Maybe the guy even works for Stratic? Maybe-

“Sir?” the soft voice of the cashier rips him out of his conspiracy theories.

Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath to steady himself. He is overthinking again. This got him nowhere before and it surely won’t get him anywhere now. He will just have to roll with it.

He plasters a plastic smile onto his face for the woman across him and pays, stacking the bill between the others in his purse. Grabbing the bag with the food he walks back to the car again, reassuring himself that none of his theories are true.

Back in the car he and the man, he needs to ask for his name, are surrounded by a deadly silence. Low american rap music is to be heard in the old car, letting the whole drive seem like an american dream. But with different circumstances.

Tooru watches the lights dance outside the window, leaves floating down to the earth and darkness oozing out from behind the horizon.

Somehow, he feels warm. The sticky feeling of anxiety is still in his guts, but, slowly, it’s replaced by hope and the feeling of not being alone.

Absentmindedly he strokes the sleeping dog on his lap. The rims of his eyes are greasy from the dried tears and God, he needs a shower.

Tooru notices how the surroundings shift. From one moment to the next, they leave the safe side of the city with the illuminated streets and the warm feeling of presence. Outside are old buildings, some with planks nailed over the windows. Tooru counts three buildings that aren’t colored by graffiti and dozens of people on the street.

He gulps as the car stops in front of a particularly ruined looking building.

The hitman gets out and rounds the car to get the suitcase and Tooru follows suit.

He glues himself to the heels of the man in front of him, afraid to get lost in all the jumble. Tooru feels his hands shaking, so he shoves them into the pockets of his coat and fiddles with the keychain.

He traces the edges of it, strokes over the soft material and makes out where the thing is colored differently, concentrating fully on the feeling of the plastic in his hands.

Lost in his awareness training, he bumps into the man ungracefully.

Startled by the sudden restraint he jerks back and shrikes eloquently. The man just looks at him over his shoulder, amusement forming in his green eyes.

Tooru didn’t know he was tense until his muscles relaxed.

The door is unlocked and he hears the man mumble, “Oh God, please don’t be here.”

At the silent prayer, Tooru furrows his brows. Who should better not be here? Where is he? What’s going on here?

Petrified he stands in the doorframe, not daring to step inside the apartment. Marshmallow is leaning warily against his legs and before he can get a hold of himself, a frightened whisper leaves his lips.

“Who?”

From the darkness inside the apartment Tooru can make a pair of confused eyes out.

“My friends. They’ve got the stupid habit of dropping by unannounced and getting high on my sofa,” he shrugs, “I don’t want to overwhelm you even more.”

The words are soft and Tooru didn’t think a man this rough could smother his voice like that.

Annoyed at himself for being so paranoid about the man who wants to help him, but who also is the reason he is paranoid, he stomps inside the apartment and toes his shoes off. After Marshmallow is in too, he shuts the door.

He follows the man through the dark hallway until they are in a bigger room and the light is turned on.

The building may look like it survived five explosions from the outside, but this apartment looked nothing like it.

The walls are plainly out of concrete, but concealed with paintings and shelves. Books over books are neatly stacked into them, some succulents in between.

A huge, dark brown desk is shoved against the wall to Tooru’s right and a vintage carpet and couch take in the most space of the room.

The apartment is warm, to Tooru’s surprise, and smells like clay and coffee.

He wanders around the room, looking over the paintings on the wall.

“Did you make those?” He asks curiously into the silence and looks at the man in question over his shoulder.

He looks sheepish and scratches the back of his neck, “Well, yeah?”

It’s more of a question than an answer and Tooru snickers.

“They are really pretty,” he says in awe, “but so sad. Why are there no colors?”

“You don’t need colors to express my life,” is all Tooru gets as an answer and a shudder bolts down his spine.

“That’s something we have in common,” he whispers, so the other man won’t hear him, as he lets his fingertips brush over the paintings.

Huge areas of black or grey, connected by lines. There is no 3D effect, all the pictures are flat. He can’t make out if they are supposed to display things, or if they are just feelings converted into strokes. In some of the paintings he thinks he can see something. Ships, anchors, eyes, crows or plants. Negative feelings seep into Tooru’s blood only by looking at them.

He turns around and stares at the man.

“What’s your name?” he blurts out.

The man in question looks startled by the question, his eyes wide. Quickly, he shakes it off and answers.

“Iwaizumi Hajime, nice to meet you,” a sarcastic grin is twirled around his lips.

Tooru huffs, “Yeah, nice to meet you too. I’m Oik-,” he stops and catches himself again, “You already know who I am.”

Iwaizumi laughs at him, he has to look like a total idiot.

“Are you hungry?”

That’s the cue for Tooru’s stomach to howl like a wolf, “Yes?” he says unsure and receives another snort.

The skin around Iwaizumi’s eyes is wrinkled, shifting the freckles on it. With the movement of his nose, the septum catches the light. Tooru hasn’t looked at him that much but now he sees all the details.

The frequently pierced ears, the tunnel in his right ear, the askew nose and the bright smile.  
Iwaizumi turns around and rummages through the little kitchen. Tooru spots black ink in the back of his neck and frowns as he can’t decipher the words.

Without realising, he wanders over towards Iwaizumi and strokes his fingertips over the slightly levied skin. Tooru watches as goosebumps rise over the hitman’s tanned skin and the man jerks forward at the sudden touch.

The sharp movement brings Tooru back to reality and he pulls his hand back as if he got burned. Iwaizumi looks at him with a scowl, looking mildly startled. He slaps a hand over his tattoo and realizes what Tooru’s intention was.

“It’s Filipino. My mother was from the Philippines,” he looks at the floor and Tooru is certain he sees a flash of grief travel over the others eyes, “The words mean ‘break’ and ‘heal’.”

Tooru is silent. His fingertips tingle with the urge to get to know Iwaizumi better. The man isn’t a blank canvas. He is like Tooru, a once blank canvas that got too many colors splattered onto him, too many of the same color until he was tainted in it, not knowing what was even his and what was splashed onto him.

“What do you want to eat?” Iwaizumi breaks the delicate silence. Good, Tooru never liked the quiet before.

“I’m a vegan,” he answers silently, almost unsure. He really doesn’t want to be more of a burden than he already is.

“That’s cool but really, what do you want to eat?”

Tooru expected to be mocked or being laughed off, but no. Iwaizumi cares about it.

“If you show me where you store all of your stuff, I can cook something,” Tooru feels how his eyes lighten up, he always loved cooking.

Iwaizumi hops on the counter, watching Tooru inspecting all the ingredients. He comes to a conclusion.

“I can make Cabbage Pirozhki.”

Iwaizumi’s his right eyebrow twitches and he looks at Tooru suspiciously, “You want to make what?”

“Cabbage Pirozhki. It’s a russian dish and my grandma used to make them with me, so I can literally do them while I’m asleep,” he smiles.

Iwaizumi shakes his head and takes a deep breath, “Well then. Let’s go. What do I need to do?”

After forty minutes the whole apartment smells of fresh dough and cabbage. The thick scent hanging in the air even lured Marshmallow out of his sleep. The dog sits on the floor at the end of the counter, happily wiggling his tail, not so subtly begging for something of the food.

It’s such a weird experience. Not even hours ago Iwaizumi wanted to kill him. Now Tooru is in his kitchen, cooking his favorite food. He doesn’t even know what power keeps him here.

As they wait for the food to finish in the oven, they sit opposite of each other on the floor, Marshmallow between them. Iwaizumi had turned some music on which is now echoing through the rooms.

Tooru just sits on the floor with his eyes shut, enjoying the presence of another human being. He can’t shake the domestic feeling off as an all too familiar song starts playing.

Tooru’s eyes shoot open and he looks at Iwaizumi’s bored face, “That’s ‘Monster’,” no reaction, “from Starset.”

A smile tingles on Iwaizumi’s lips, “It is indeed. It’s a good band, so why not?”

“It’s the best band!” Tooru could get really riled up about their music.

As they sit there on the cold tiles, Tooru almost feels comfortable. He doesn’t know why he is here with this man in the first place, can’t remember. All he knows is that he’s glad he’s here with him.

“So Iwa-chan-”

“No,” Iwaizumi immediately interrupts Tooru, who pouts at the gruffness.

“Come on. It’s cute.”

“Am I cute?”

“Well. Depends on the perspective,” Tooru mumbles, “but it will make you cuter.”

“Did you forget that I’m a hitman? I don’t need to be cute.”

Tooru really had forgotten about that.

“I won’t stop calling you that though,” he plasters a devilish smirk onto his face. If there is one thing he is good at, it’s being persistent.

Iwaizumi literally looks like he’s suffering from the inside and Tooru only smiles more.

After silence fell over them again Iwaizumi suddenly breaths out a string of words.

“Look, I’m sorry for everything I did to you. I really am. But I was only doing my job. I’m glad you actually told me the truth,” he stops for a moment, frowning at his hands, “that’s not justifying it.”

Tooru wants to answer that he does hate him and he is only reaching for straws, but as he thinks for a little, he comes to a conclusion.

“Actually, I’m glad it was you and not someone other. They would have killed me instantly and you’re giving me a chance. How could I hate you now?”

After the alarm of the oven goes off they both huddle to their feet and set the table, past conversation stocked away in the backs of their heads.

They eat in silence, both lost in their own minds. Tooru sometimes feeds Marshmallow something from the bread only to earn a scolding look from Iwaizumi. He just laughs it off abashed.

“You can have the bed. I’ll just take the cou-”

“No,” Tooru interrupts Iwaizumi before he can finish, “don’t. I’m ok with the sofa. Also, I don’t like sleeping in a stranger’s bed.”

Iwaizumi nods at him in acceptance and fetches Tooru blankets and cushions. Afterwards he shows him around in the apartment.

“Go, take a shower. I can literally see how much you want to.” Iwaizumi says with a laugh as Tooru’s gaze wanders to the bathroom door repeatedly.

“Oh thank God,” he breathes out, gets the stuff he needs and walks into the bathroom.

Showering really does wonders. Tooru sighs in content and relaxes a little, taking the scent of lavender in and feeling warmth spread over his body.

When he emerges back into the living room, Iwaizumi is placed on the sofa with a sleeping Marshmallow on his lap, dishes already cleaned.

Traitor.

Tooru pouts at the dog and sits down besides Iwaizumi who instantly looks at him.

“You will go to work tomorrow again, right?”

Tooru gulps, “Yeah.”

“Here,” he shoves a key into Tooru’s face, “it could happen that I’m not here when you come back.”

Tooru nods, needing to process what just happened.

“We need a plan to get you out of there. Fast,” is all Iwaizumi says before he places Marshmallow beside him and walks over to his bedroom.

Tooru just watches him disappear.

As he lies there in the dark, the warm body of Marshmallow pressed against him, he feels bolts of hope running through his body. Electricity tingles his nerves.

This may not be what he imagined his life to be, but the current situation is good. As Tooru drifts into sleep, free of any panic, there’s only one thought in his head as the smell of Pirozhki still lingers in the air.

This is almost like a home.

.

Hajime’s limbs are still heavy from sleep, exhaustion is still thickly wrapped around him when he starts to hear sounds.

As his head is still clouded from the bliss of sleep, the sounds are only faint, dully hitting against his head.

Frowning, he tries to get adjusted to the sudden noise and after a few seconds of staring at the plain ceiling he can finally make them out.

Crying and screaming sounds are heard from beyond the door.

Confusion starts to spread in his mind. He didn’t live with anyone. What the hell is happening in his flat? An unsettling feeling rushes the blood through his veins.

He contemplates how to approach the situation. Should he get a weapon?

Before he can consider more options a name shoots through his head.

Oikawa.

Of course. How could he even forget?

Before he recognizes it, he is already standing besides his bed and rushes through the door.

In front of his couch he takes in the situation happening before his eyes.

Screams, horrible, loud and frightened screams, are ringing in his head, freezing his blood. Some of the cries are broken by a sob that’s ripping through Oikawa’s body as he’s wailing around on the furniture. The blanket is discarded on the floor and Marshmallow is nowhere to be seen.

The dim light illuminating the room is just enough to see how damp Oikawa’s hair is, how pearls of sweat are running down his forehead. His whole face is glistening, reflecting the light, from all the tears, mingled with sweat.

Hajime just stands and stares at the scene in front of him. Suddenly, he doesn’t know how to move.

He gulps down whatever feeling was trying to rip its claws into him and sits down besides the miserable man.

He tries to sooth Oikawa. Placing a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to keep him pinned to the sofa, all while speaking in a soft voice. But Oikawa’s screams easily overshadow them. His body is still moving without any trace of a pattern and Hajime struggles to keep him still.

Oikawa feels so cold under his hands.

Hajime starts to panic. He doesn’t know what to do, never in his life has he experienced something remotely akin to this. He can’t concentrate, can’t think of a way to solve this, to get Oikawa back from the abyss of his very own mind.

In a moment of short circuiting he grabs both of Oikawa’s shoulders and pulls him up. Hajime eventually manages to wrap his arms around Oikawa’s upper body, restraining his arms to his own body. He places his head onto Oikawa’s shoulder and starts to whisper low words of reassurance into the side of his head.

As they are chest to chest, Hajime can feel the other’s heart drumming against his rips in an unsteady, fast beat. Pumping to the beat of desperation and fright.

Hajime feels like he’s holding someone who has been thrown into ice cold water. Oikawa is drenched and still, his skin is cold as if freezed over.

Slowly his jerky movements start to falter and he relaxes into Hajime’s arms. The crying ebbs away, replaced by soft sobs.

Hajime closes his eyes and breaths out in relief. He didn’t know he was holding his breath.

Carefully his arms start to lose their tension and he keeps rocking back and forth with the sobbing mess in his arms.

Suddenly Oikawa frees his arms only to wrap them around Hajime, clenching his fists in the fabric of his black shirt. He feels like soothing a child that just scraped it’s knee.

At the icy feeling around his body, he jumps and hisses as goosebumps rise on his skin.

Oikawa is clinging desperately onto him, not fully in control of his movements and Hajime wonders just how touch starved he his.

He doesn’t know how long they have already been sitting there, rocking their bodies to the beating of hearts. But slowly he feels Oikawa warming up, his breath steady again and all the miserable sounds turn into soft snoring.

Carefully Hajime shoves the sleeping figure off himself and lays him back down. As he stands up again, he grabs the lost blanket and drapes it back over Oikawa. He glances one last time at him.

He’s still feeling so much regret from nearly killing him for nothing. The man was suffering and Hajime first needed to see him broken to notice that. He wasn’t able to see it when he observed him, didn’t notice who really harmed other people.

Something white jumps onto the couch and Hajime takes a step back, startled by the sudden movement.

Marshmallow is settling against Oikawa and looks at Hajime expectantly with an open mouth and a wriggling tail.

Hajime chuckles lowly and pets the dog’s head before returning to his room.

After he turned the lights off, he flops back onto his bed, as the adrenaline is washed out of his system, exhaustion takes its place.

With a mind full of sorrows and remorse he is lulled back into sleep, dreaming of being surrounded by cold water and desperately trying to breath.

.

When Tooru wakes up, he firstly has to wrap his mind around where he currently is. All the events from yesterday start to flood his mind and shivers bolt down his spine in a steady rhythm.

As soon as Marshmallow notices his awakening, he jumps onto Tooru’s chest and licks him square over the face.

Life always seems approachable when you are greeted with a wet tongue on your face.

Only after petting his dog for a few minutes he notices the intoxicating smell lingering in the air. Tooru feels how hungry he is with every one of his nerves and he even has an appetite. That’s new.

Scrambling up from the couch he makes his way into the kitchen, Marshmallow following suit.

Iwaizumi is placed in front of the stove with a frown gracing his expression.

“Mornin’,” Tooru’s voice is low and sounds strained. He has no idea why.

The other man turns around to face him, startled by the sudden sound and Tooru thinks he gets way too easily startled for a hitman.

“Morning,” Iwaizumi hesitates for a moment, “how have you slept?”

He thinks for a moment, taken aback by the fact that he, indeed, slept.

“Pretty good, I would say. I can’t complain.”

He shoots Iwaizumi a cheeky grin and the man doesn’t look convinced, questions burning in his eyes like needles. He seems to dismiss them and gestures to the table, “Sit down. I hope you’re OK with pancakes,” Tooru opens his mouth but is quickly silenced as Iwaizumi keeps speaking, “don’t worry. They are vegan.”

So Tooru shuts his mouth and sits down, welcoming the warm feeling in his chest at the fact that the man remembered it and even considered it. Iwaizumi comes over after a while, setting two plates and a bowl with various fruits down.

They eat and Tooru continues giving Marshmallow tiny bits of pancakes. Iwaizumi obviously notices, but not bothering with shooting A Look into Tooru’s direction, well aware of the fact that it wouldn’t do anything. He only rolls his eyes at the display.

Tooru looks at the clock and realizes he has to leave in less than forty minutes. Dread crawls out of the corners of the room, ripping its claws into his body, trying to shred him and keep him in place. He winces as if the metaphor is really happening and tenses up.

Of course the green eyes across from him notice.

“Hey. You will be fine. Only a few days more and you will never have to set a foot into this hell again,” Iwaizumi speaks with such a sweet voice like his words are dipped into honey and Tooru feels reassured and nods while his gaze is lost in hues of the forest.

He gets up from the table, carries his plate to the sink and disappears into the bathroom to get ready.

He dares to look into the mirror and immediately regrets his decision as dull brown eyes stare back at him. Frosted ash is coating his skin, the last sparks of fire extinguished. Abysses are gaping from under his eyes, desperately begging for sleep.

He looks like he has been crying mere minutes ago.

Gulping, he looks away and starts getting ready.

As he wants to exit the door, Iwaizumi gives him a concerned look, contradicting the words he said before. Tooru offers a sad smile which he hopes reassures the other one.

He can’t assure himself if it worked, because he’s already out of the door, standing in the suffocating hallway.

.

Hajime is worried about Oikawa. Afraid of Stratic killing him off themselve as they still see he is very much alive and Hajime hasn’t done the job.

The whole morning he sits hunched over papers, sometimes he graces Marshmallow with attention and goes on a walk with him. But mostly he is trying to come up with a plan to help Oikawa, but nothing comes to his mind. He feels drained, fright blocking his brain.

He forgets the time and as he looks up at the clock it’s nearly two pm. His mind is still racing with unfinished attempts he can’t put into a solution for the whole situation. Constantly bouncing his legs and ripping the failed plans to shreds in his lap helps him to think.

Some time he notices his inability to come up with such a huge plan on his own. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he needs help. Three minds will be better than one.

So he curtly shoots two texts out, one to Bokuto and the other to Kuroo. He hasn’t updated them on the new development yet. He expects both of them on his doorstep, already bouncing with excitement and an urge to help.

What he doesn’t expect are four people.

“Look who’s back!” Bokuto loudly exclaims, wrapping his right arm around Akaashi’s shoulders as soon as Hajime opens the door.

Kuroo and Bokuto literally glow with happiness at their significant others’ return.

Hajime thinks their excitement is endearing and can’t keep a smile off his lips. He gestures for them to come in and they all gather in the living room.

Bokuto and Kuroo sprawl themselves onto the couch immediately and Akaashi and Kozume just casually place themselves on top of them, not even a little affected by the PDA.

Hajime just shakes his head and sits down onto the armchair. The plans he hasn’t already ripped to shreds are messily spread on the small coffee table.

“Since when are you back?” Hajime asks before jumping right to the problem.

“We came back yesterday,” Kozume answers shortly.

Hajime nods and keeps talking, “Glad you’re back finally. They weren’t far away from going more nuts than they already are.”

Everyone across from him grins knowingly at the comment even though Hajime is dead serious.

Suddenly something white makes its way to Hajime and plainly jumps on his lap, getting comfortable there. Everyone, including Hajime, looks at the dog with raised eyebrows until Kozume breaks the heavy silence.

“What’s up with the dog?” they question with a crooked head.

“I will come to that eventually,” Hajime mumbles, just loud enough for them to hear.

“So? Why are we here?” Kuroo asks finally.

A sigh from Hajime as he prepares the next words in his head. He tells the whole story of him and Oikawa from the beginning so Kozume and Akaashi know what’s going on. Hajime can see the amusement in Akaashi’s eyes as he rambles about all his failed attempts to kill him. His frustration obviously showing.

“So, yesterday I tried to pull the thing with the ether off and long story short: I tied him to a chair so I can tell him just how much I despise him and much harder he made my life over the last days,” again, everyone across of him wears a knowing smile, “but when I told him why exactly I was trying to kill him he told me I was lied to. He showed me some certified papers of a few experiments and, fuck, that shit is heavy.”

Hajime can feel the unspoken questions hanging freely in the air, but he ignores them and keeps speaking, “I was dumb enough to speak about some of the experiments which just lead to him having a halfway breakdown. I felt so guilty for nearly killing him even though he is innocent. He may have done some fucking disgusting things, but not out of his free will,” he feels the need to emphasis that, “so I offered him to help him out of this whole thing and now he and his dog, with the most stupid name ever, are staying with me and I tried to come up with a plan until now but can’t wrap my mind around one and now I need your help.”

Hajime is well aware of the fact that he rambles whenever he is nervous or simply emotional. He hasn’t even noticed that he’s petting the dog in his lap but the feeling of fur on his skin is soothing. Taking a breath to calm down he looks into the faces of his friends as they try to process the emotion.

The first one to speak up is, of course, Bokuto, “So. What’s the dog’s name?”

Important questions first. Hajime sighs and looks down on the dog, who’s clearly enjoying himself.

“His name’s Marshmallow,” he grits out and there is a moment of silence before loud laughter echoes through the room.

“Well,” Kozume says, through a fit of laughing, “I really can’t say it’s not fitting.”

Hajime laughs along, because yes, the name is ridiculous but also the most fitting.

Moments like these are the ones Hajime holds dear. The ones where he’s just sitting in a round with his friends, everyone evidently comfortable, as they laugh.

“OK,” Akaashi cuts in with a serious voice after he has calmed down, “now let’s get to the issue.” a low ‘Akaashi’s no fun’ is heard from Bokuto as he scowls.

“What have you come up with already?” Kozume asks as they lean forward on Kuroo’s lap, scanning over the papers on the table.

Now everyone of them leans forward to look over it and Hajime patiently waits for them to take the informations in.

“That’s close to nothing what you have there,” Kuroo says, being the first one to finish reading, even though being the last to start.

Hajime groans, “I know. Why the hell do you think I need your help?”

“The only way out of this is suicide,” Kozume says dryly without any emotions and a shrug, sitting back up again.

“Are you fucking kidding me? I told him to help him. You know? Help him out of there alive,” Hajime emphasises the word ‘alive’.

“Well. You shouldn’t promise impossible things then,” Akaashi shoots back.

Hajime gulps and as he opens his mouth, he is cut off by Bokuto.

“A suicide is your only option. But who says he has to die?”

The pressuring silence covers the whole room again, laying heavily on Hajime’s body. Confusion is marking his face and everyone across off him mirrors his expression. Expect for Bokuto, whose eyes are ignited with mischief. Kuroo seems to get what he’s trying to imply, as his eyes slowly start to resemble Bokuto’s.

“He just has to fake his suicide and run away!” Kuroo reveals loudly.

Words of protest are heard from Kenma and Akaashi, saying it’s insane, they don’t live in a movie, it’s impossible.

“It’s perfect,” Hajime whispers and still manages to shut everyone up.

“Iwaizumi. You can’t be considering this. It’s so far fetched, it won’t work. Besides, you don’t even know if he’s OK with it,” Akaashi reasons and suddenly Hajime hates how logical and realistic he his. Because, yes, this is a wild plan. But what other options do they have?

So he counters back.

“It’s certainly not impossible. How many people were able to pull it off? How many people who were even more wanted than Oikawa, who didn’t even have the medium to pull that off, managed it?”

He has to look like a maniac, too riled up in the feeling of finally having a plan.

“Keiji. We are in an underground system of all kinds of people. This will be easy! Don’t we already know all sorts of people who can help us with it?” Bokuto asks looking up to his boyfriend, hope and excitement letting his eyes burn. Akaashi’s stony expression softens under Bokuto’s look, as always.

Hajime always thought he is way too indulging with Bokuto, but right now he is quite glad for the fact because Akaashi just lets his head fall with a sigh and nods.

“I know someone who perfected the art of faking passports and IDs and stuff like that, not sure if they also do visas and credit cards. But I already know they will want something in return,” Kozume throws in.

“A client of mine works at the airport, some high ranked officer or security dude, I don’t really know, but he might be helpful and let some things slide,” an animalistic smile is curled around Kuroo’s lips.

Hajime has never been more relieved to have friends like them, friends who are really invested in the underground system of Tokyo.

The click of the door startles all of them and their gazes wander towards the hallway. Marshmallow jumps down from Hajime’s lap and runs around the corner down the hallway and out of their sight. The dog exclaims little noises of excitement and chuckling is heard.

Their looks are still locked to the hallway as Oikawa steps into view, Marshmallow cradled against his chest.

A terrified expression graces his face as he spots the strange people in the living room. Hajime notices that he forgot about the time again. He didn’t want Oikawa to meet them already, knowing they will only overwhelm him.

He notices the way he stands, his tired posture and disheveled aura. All of a sudden, the only feeling he possesses is worry and it’s set in his bones.

Not wanting to show it, he tries to gather the last bits of nonchalance he has in him.

“How has your day been?”

.

Work is as bad as ever. The rooms are too narrow, suffocating Tooru with every more second he stays. After some time of strolling around and checking on patients the heads of God’s Tree call out for a meeting. They inform everyone about a new experiment. Sex-change operations on homosexual people.

Tooru gulps, not able to show any reaction. Now this place is getting really dangerous for him.

“We will try to transform them to normal people,” one of the heads explains.

Tooru shudders. Thank god he isn’t close to any of his co-workers. No one can know about him. It’s not possible.

Still, alarms are ringing in his head, sending shivers through his whole body as, yet again, the familiar feeling of trepidation coils itself tightly around his intestines.

He wants to run away, wants nothing more than to run away. He wants to lie down in a forest and wait until moss grows over him and he slowly but surely decays.

After a long time of just hiding around the building, trying not to be seen by anyone, it’s time for him to leave.

As soon as he steps through the gate, relief washes over him. He got out of there alive for another day.

The walk back to the apartment is exciting, to say the least. Never in his life has he wandered through streets where danger is so thick in the air you could grab it. With every more step the buzzling city fades more and the buildings get more and more forfeited. Homeless people are all around him, people who are luring for others.

He just hopes no one is there for him.

Tooru is glad he’s finally… home? Can he call it home? It’s not exactly his home but it feels like it. So he will just stick to it.

In front of the door, he hesitates a moment. Should he really just use the key? Wouldn’t that be too much?

Thoughts are racing through his head as he yet again over-thinks the situation.

Iwaizumi gave him the key voluntarily. If he knocked he would just annoy him, right? But what if he’s not even there?

Just use the damn key.

A voice screams in his head and so he does. Shoving the key into the lock with shaking hands, he opens the heavy door.

Immediately, Marshmallow is there to greet him. Old habits die hard.

In no time Tooru has shrugged his coat off and picks the yelping animal up, cradling him to his chest as he makes his way down the hallway into the living room.

Instantly he is petrified as he notices the five people in the crowded room. He can feel his eyes widen and his heart rate picks up speed.  
Are they all here to kill him? Is this where it gets him? On his feet, the enemy ahead of him? Are those Iwaizumi’s partners in crime? Here, to help him get the job done?

Nitrogen rushes through his veins, the whole room feels like the sun is in it, all while ice starts to spread its hands over everything. Dizziness clouds his mind, he forgot to breath.

“How has your day been?”

It’s Iwaizumi’s voice that breaks through Tooru’s head. In all his casualness, he just stares at him and asks him how his day has been.

Pairs of eyes are still fixed onto him, trying to calculate him. Their gazes feel hot on his skin.

“As fine as it can be, when you work for Satan’s very own corporation,” he answers honestly, but his voice comes out sharper as he intended it. He didn’t want to say this. A “fine” would have been enough, but the lack of a brain-to-mouth filter is always prominent on him.

Faintly, he can hear laughing from the couch. The two men who are currently used as furniture are laughing. Tooru scowls at them in irritation.

“God. You are a drama queen, shit,” the black haired one says and earns a jab into the ribs from the person on top of him.

Helpless and completely overwhelmed he looks at Iwaizumi. Only now Tooru notices there is a hint of panic in his eyes. This just irritates him more.

Iwaizumi sighs, “Sit down. I guess I will introduce you to,” a short pause, as if he’s trying to think of what to say next, “my friends.”

Tooru gulps and walks over to the armchair on whose right arm Iwaizumi sits. He flops down on the actual seat, Marshmallow on his lap.

He knots his fingers in the soft fur to steady himself. Curious looks are on the faces across of him and Tooru has never felt so small in his life. They are looking at him with such piercing eyes he thinks they will have him figured out in no time.

A heavy breath escapes his mouth and he leans back.

Iwaizumi wants to start introduce the people across of them but is cut off by the human furniture on the far left.

“We are capable of introducing ourselves, Iwaizumi, thank you very much,” he says with a low drawl and Tooru shrinks even more, as his golden eyes wander back to him. A dangerous smirk plays around his lips.

“I’m Bokuto Koutarou. And you have to be Oikawa Tooru, am I right?”

Tooru nods shortly and occupies himself with stroking Marshmallow again.

Bokuto is one of the most interesting people Tooru has ever laid eyes on. Black and white hair that’s sticking into every direction, looking like a rare plant. Tooru wonders what his natural hair color is until he sees the white eyebrows. No one is crazy enough to dye their eyebrows, right?

He looks strong enough to just pick Tooru up and throw him out of the window, but still there is a warm, positive aura around him. If Tooru had to describe him with one word, it would be yellow.

“You look very frightened. We won’t kill you, you know,” Bokuto says and ends his statement with a thunderous laugh. Apparently he saw the widening of Tooru’s eyes and knew he hit the nail on the head.

Strangely, the statement reassures Tooru. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath and all of a sudden he isn’t imitated by Bokuto anymore. Something warm is in his eyes, eerily akin to compassion. He smiles at him, hoping it will come across as thankful.

“I’m Akaashi Keiji. I’m pleased to meet you,” the guy on top of Bokuto says with a reassuring smile.

To say the very least, the man is pretty. All fair skin and dark curls, but the same piercing green eyes as Iwaizumi’s. A silver ring hugs his right nostril. But as beautiful as he is, Tooru has no doubt that Akaashi could make someone’s life hell.

Tooru’s awe must be showing as Bokuto protectively wraps his arms around Akaashi.

“No. Back off. He’s mine,” Bokuto tells him with a pout at which Akaashi giggles and Tooru can’t keep the sincere smile off his lips at the display.

“Kuroo Tetsurou. I already heard many things about you.”

Tooru’s eyes wander over the couch until he is met with yellow eyes, strangely akin to the ones of a cat, mischief hiding in them. It’s an understatement to say his hair is a mess and Tooru wonders for a minute if Kuroo even tries to do something about it. The guy is much too smug for Tooru’s taste.

Huffing a breath he answers, “Only good things I hope.”

Kuroo just snorts and shakes his head with a knowing smile.

“Kenma. Kozume. I’m non-binary so please refer to me as they/their, thank you.”

Tooru is a little taken aback by the sudden bluntness and just nods in his still stunned state.

Kozume has blonde hair, which is reaching all the way down to their clavicles and their hairline is a dark brown. Some of their strands are pulled into a messy bun at the back of their head. Kozume seems to brim with intelligence and if Tooru is being honest, they are intimidating him the most. There is something aloof but calculating about them Tooru can’t put his finger on, which is frankly disturbing.

“I invited them over to help us come up with a plan,” Iwaizumi says and Tooru hasn’t even noticed he is looking at him. How long has he already been staring?

“Did you figure something out?” he asks, a little scared. Akaashi’s answer doesn’t make anything better. One short word and Tooru can’t breath again.

“Suicide,” he says with an indifferent voice.

Iwaizumi groans besides him, “Akaashi. Stop fucking with him.”

The man in question just shrugs and smiles pleased as he deciphers Tooru’s reaction.

“We will fake your suicide. And then you will flee to a different country,” Kuroo clarifies.

Tooru takes notice of the “we” and it leaves a warm feeling in his chest. He doesn’t feel as alone anymore. Even though he considers Akaashi an ass now.

“Are you fine with that?” Kozume asks and concern is thick in their voice as they look at Tooru with widened eyes.

He thinks for a while. Is he fine with it? There is literally nothing that’s holding him here, or to his current life. No one would care if he killed himself. His mother is dead and his father hasn’t been in the picture since a long time. His sister would probably mourn over him but that’s none of his business. He just hopes Tendou and Ushijima won’t feel guilty. After all, they offered help.

“I can take my dog with me, yes?” Is the only thing he asks.

Bokuto laughs warmly, “Yes, you can take the dog with the horrible name with you.”

Now he earns a jab in the ribs, even though they are all laughing.

Tooru purses his lips and looks at Iwaizumi accusingly and with narrowed eyes. Iwaizumi sits there with a hand in front of his mouth and his eyes screwed shut as he tries to hold his laugh in. And wow, Tooru can’t deny that this display isn’t beautiful. He hasn’t even realized how his jaw dropped. Gathering his posture again he turns back to the couch, planning on staring them down.

But they are already looking at him, the same knowing look on all of their faces and Tooru thinks Bokuto and Kuroo are wiggling their eyebrows. He feels his face turning red and looks at Marshmallow, still seated in his lap.

He’s the first one to speak up again.

“I’m fine with that plan. I don’t really care,” he states meekly and thinks he can hear gulping from across the room. Suddenly the air around them is tense and Tooru gives props to himself for fucking the mood up again like the grinch.

Bokuto is the first to notice the swing and immediately tries to fix it.

“Has Marshmallow ever met Beets?” he asks, practically bouncing from excitement.

“Oh god, no,” Kozume and Akaashi say in unison the same time Kuroo says “Oh god, yes.”

Tooru is confused, very confused. Why should his dog meets beets?

With a crease between his eyebrows he asks, irritation thick in his voice, “Marshmallow doesn’t eat vegetables. And what do you mean with meet?” he accents “meet” with air quotes.

Iwaizumi gets up and walks past Tooru while putting a hand on his shoulder. The more he walks away, the more the touch fades.

“You will see,” he shouts over his back as he wanders to a door Tooru has no idea what’s behind.

Some time passes in which Bokuto and Kuroo look so excited, they seem near imploding. Their partners just sigh and lock their eyes to the door through which Iwaizumi just disappeared. Kuroo shrugs Kozume off his lap some time and gets up, walking over to the stereo. He fumbles a while with it until some rap music Tooru has never heard before plays in the background. Tooru thinks it’s fitting and smiles. Kuroo looks over his shoulder at Marshmallow with lidded eyes. Before he takes his place on the couch again, he turns the volume down a little.

As Iwaizumi emerges back into the living room there is something bright red that’s clinging to his right arm. Tooru realizes he needs new contact lenses, he can’t see shit with this ones.

Iwaizumi comes to a halt at Tooru’s left, still holding his distance, and through squinted eyes Tooru can finally make out what’s on Iwaizumi’s arm.

An at least thirty-five feet long iguana, the color of a stop sign. Tooru gets the name.

Iwaizumi has a shit eating grin plastered onto his face.

“So. That’s Beets.”

“Oh. So Marshmallow is a hilarious name, but Beets is just fine for an iguana? Seriously?” Tooru immediately retorts. Iwaizumi laughs, really laughs, as he puts the reptile on the floor.

Marshmallow is squirming in his lap, excited to get to know the strange being. Tooru is a little wary, he surely doesn’t want his dog to get hurt. But he also knows Marshmallow is capable of defending himself and so he sets him on the floor.

Everyone is expectantly watching the animals. Iwaizumi still standing by Tooru’s side with his arms crossed and watching with a serious gaze, but a smile still graces his lips.

“If one of them dies, I will just go and I haven’t seen anything,” Kozume simply states, their eyes glued to the scene before them. Bokuto and Kuroo look ready to place bets on who wins and Akaashi just looks tired.

Marshmallow slowly sneaks around Beets with his tail and ears flat. Beets isn’t moving except for his tongue which sometimes shoots out of his mouth. Like a stone, he stands there, head high and proud. Only his pupils move, never leaving the white something that’s circling him.

Suddenly, Marshmallow is in front of the iguana, looking at it with a crooked head and pointed ears, clearly curious. His eyes are glistening in the warm light.

Slowly he makes his way towards Beets, sniffing all the while. The reptile opens its mouth and a long hiss comes out of it’s throat at which the dog jerks back startled.

The whole room erupts from laughter. Marshmallow seems to have found his courage again and bounces around beets, trying to get him to play. The reptile turns around and looks at Iwaizumi and the animal looks so done.

Iwaizumi just shrugs.

Some time later they start to fight with each other in a playful manner. Just like two dogs. Tooru is completely hypnotised by the animals until the armchair shifts as Iwaizumi sits down on the armrest.

“Since when do you have him?” Tooru asks.

Iwaizumi thinks for a while before answering, “Three years, I guess.”

“Don’t get me wrong, but, why?” Damn Tooru’s lack of a brain-to-mouth filter.

But Iwaizumi’s laugh is ringing in his ears and he takes pride in making him laugh, the lack of filter forgiven. Dumbly, he smiles along.

“Iguanas are like small Godzillas and that’s damn cool.”

“Wow. I haven’t expect you to be a nerd, but here we are. I’m surprised you didn’t call him Godzilla then,” Tooru is far too comfortable around all of the people in the room to care about his choice of words anymore.

He can’t remember when the last time was he has been this comfortable around people.

Iwaizumi just laughs even more, obviously lost in memories, and Bokuto takes the word.

“Believe me, he wanted to. We talked him out of it.”

Kuroo is shaking his head vigorously with a horrified expression and Tooru wants to ask who the dramatic one is. But he’s too occupied with laughing.

Like this, the hours pass. Empty conversations, sometimes picking on each other and pushing the right buttons to get someone riled up. It’s a light atmosphere and Tooru realizes he has never been this comfortable around people. Never in his life has he sat with people whose humor matched his, just talking about pointless things none of them would remember tomorrow. The only thing they would remember tomorrow will be the hazy mood and the shed laughter, the airy feelings as if the room has been pumped with endorphins.

Iwaizumi walks his guests to the front door to let them out after they all said their goodbyes to Tooru, squeezing his shoulder in sympathy as they walked by.

By this time Tooru is sitting on the armchair with his knees up to his chest and arms hugging his knees. Marshmallow and Beets had disappeared some time ago, but he isn’t worried.

Tooru can hear Iwaizumi and his friends say their goodbyes at the door until there is silence. Suddenly there is a hushed snarl from Bokuto. Tooru still can make the words out. After all he had years of experience by eavesdropping his parents.

“Tooru, huh? He’s very pretty.”

Tooru’s head shoots up at that. What the hell is Bokuto saying? Tooru clings to his knees, anticipating Iwaizumi’s answer.

An exhausted sigh and the words that follow it are from Iwaizumi. They ring inside Tooru’s head and he thinks he will never be over the way he said them. Quietly, almost shy and with so much defeat coiled around them.

“I know.”

.

Tooru is stressed and he knows that Iwaizumi knows it too.

Actually, he’s great at concealing his stress or just negative feelings in general. But this time, it doesn’t work. Maybe the feelings are too strong, maybe he doesn’t have enough energy for it.

The point it, he’s living on Iwaizumi’s couch. No, not living in his apartment, he’s living on his couch.

And always picking at his fingers or biting his lips.

But how can he possibly be not stressed? A whole company wants his death after all. And he still has to go there everyday.

“OK, I’m not going to watch this,” Iwaizumi gestures at Tooru, “any longer. Get up and dressed. We’re going grocery shopping.”

As soon as Tooru opens his mouth to complain, already sitting a little straighter and mere seconds away from raising his finger, Iwaizumi shuts him up with his thundering voice.

“No. Shut up. This isn’t good for your mental health. Stop hiding. And can’t you see how fucked up it is that I’m the one to tell you that?”

Tooru has to admit, Iwaizumi’s right. But he would never say it aloud. He already knows that he’s going grocery shopping with Iwaizumi, but he needs to get convinced a little more. Just so Iwaizumi knows he won’t say “Amen” to everything that comes out of his mouth.

“But I’m tired,” Tooru complains.

“Me too. But you want food, right?”

“Yes. But I’m so comfortable right now.”

“Stop the “but”s or I’m going to carry you. And you know I will.”

Tooru already wants to ask Iwaizumi what the problem with that would be, but the latter opens his mouth again.

“That would mean, you will go grocery shopping with shorts and a shirt that says “I’m not saying it’s the aliens, but it’s the aliens”. Choose wisely.”

Tooru gasps and his face says “you wouldn’t dare”, but Iwaizumi just nods curtly, staring hard at him over his glasses.

So Tooru does the sensible thing and strides to the bathroom.

At a slow pace he gets ready, all while softly cursing under his breath. He’s too lazy to put contacts in, so they will both go as openly blind.

Tooru catches a glimpse of his skin and can see that his hands are suffering from the stress.

When he’s finally ready, Iwaizumi is already waiting for him, typing away on his phone. But as soon as he notices Tooru, he puts it away and walks out of the door without another word, sure that Tooru will follow. Which he does.

They drive for about fifteen minutes to the next supermarket that seems to please Iwaizumi’s expectations. Tooru finds out he’s picky about that and can’t stop a snort, just to earn a glare from Iwaizumi. He should start counting them.

So again, they are in a more vivid part of Tokyo, which also doesn’t seem as shady.

Iwaizumi pulls the car into the parking lot, when he finally finds an, in his eyes, good supermarket and they get out.

Tooru strolls around the aisles as he is the one to cook, while Iwaizumi lazily pushes the cart, and himself, forward.

They are currently in front of the vegetable sections, fighting over whether or not to take peppers with them.

“They are healthy. Why don’t you want to take them?” Tooru tries to change Iwaizumi’s mind, which is harder than he thought.

“They are disgusting and taste like nothing. There is plenty of other food that’s just as healthy. But better.”

“How can you insult peppers like that? You just haven’t eaten them right, that’s the problem.” Tooru gestures with the peppers in his hands around.

Iwaizumi just stares at them with a disgusted expression.

Tooru never had to bicker over what will be bought or not. It’s a strange feeling having to adapt to another person.

“Oikawa?”

Tooru’s eyes widen. He knows that deep, rumbling voice. A cold sweat starts to pool on his forehead and the peppers threaten to tumble to the ground.

Iwaizumi just takes them from him and murmurs something like “No, we won’t take peppers with us.”

Tooru still doesn’t move, not knowing what to do and Iwaizumi seems to start to notice he’s behaving strange as worry spreads over his features. Running away would be too obvious. So he does what he always does.

“Ushiwaka! What a coincident to meet you,” he pushes the words through gritted teeth and hopes they sound at least a little cheerful. Ushijima is dense as a brick wall, so he would be the last to notice.

“How are you? I haven’t heard from you since the last time,” he states with an ultimately monochrome voice.

“Oh you know. Been there, done that, but yeah. I’m fine.”

Suddenly Iwaizumi’s at his side, still hunched over the chart. He acknowledges Ushijima with a nod and an expressionless “Yo”.

Ushijima just nods back, but raises an eyebrow at Tooru as if to ask ‘who the hell is that?’.

Tooru would love to answer, but to be honest, he isn’t sure himself.

“Ah. Of course. He’s just an old friend of mine,” Tooru looks at the clock on the wall across of him, “oh well. I’m sorry but we are in a hurry. I’ll talk to you sometime later, see you. And thanks for the last time.” He grabs Iwaizumi by the upper arm and shoves him towards the cash register.

“And great Tendou for me,” he shouts over his shoulder, right before they round the next corner.

If Ushijima didn’t notice that this was strange, he’s even more dense than Tooru thought.

“What the hell was that?” Iwaizumi asks while ripping his arm out of Tooru’s grip, pushing his glasses back onto his nose.

“I’m sorry. I panicked. I don’t like him that much, but I crashed at his place after someone,” Tooru glares daggers at Iwaizumi, “tried to kill me. I didn’t know how to explain.”

Iwaizumi shakes his head and mumbles a curt “sorry” as they take their place in the line.  
After paying, Tooru insistent on paying half of the bill, and getting everything in the car they drive back home again.

“So, why don’t you like that guy?” Iwaizumi asks, gaze still lingering on the street.

Tooru shrugs helplessly. “He’s such a macho. He thinks being strong on your own will just let you float your way through life. He never thinks about working together or something. Besides, he annoyed me back in high school, ‘cause I didn’t go to his stupid school.”

Iwaizumi just chuckles and Tooru hasn’t even noticed that he’s pouting again.

Like that, Iwaizumi fueled a fire within him and for the rest of the car ride he rambles on about Ushijima. Iwaizumi patiently listens to him, sometimes throwing a comment or question in.

“Also, he’s a plant nerd. That’s so boring, like come on. There are way cooler ways to spend your free time.”

“You cook. That’s not much better.”

“Please. When I cook you get great food. What do you get when I care about daisies?” Tooru asks in answer.

“Oxygen.”

“Shut up.” He shuffles through the door, squeezing past Iwaizumi and into the flat.

In approximately 0.3 seconds Marshmallow is already dancing around his legs, making walking a lot harder than it actually is.

They start putting the food away while Marshmallow strides around on the floor, waiting for attention.

Tooru finishes his bag first so he sits down at the table with Marshmallow on his lap. For a moment, he closes his eyes, taking in the feeling of fur between his fingers.

He can smell coffee being brewed and hear the coffee machine come to life. After not even a minute a cup is being placed in front of him. The stark smell of coffee fogs his system and he sets Marshmallow down.

He doesn’t know where Iwaizumi went, but he will be back. So he just concentrates on the brewing coffee soup in front of him.

The sudden sound of music floods the rooms and Tooru doesn’t know what music it is. But he likes it though.

When Iwaizumi comes back, he puts thin books and a shoebox that’s rattling at the impact down onto the table and sits down across from Tooru.

Iwaizumi doesn’t say anything, so Tooru crooks his head to look at the books in the middle of the table.

“Coloring books?”

Coloring books,” Iwaizumi confirms.

Tooru frowns at the books, then at Iwaizumi.

“Why?”

“Because they are a great stress relief. Akaashi brought them over some time ago, saying I need them,” Iwaizumi elaborates.

Tooru just shrugs and opens the box, taking all kinds of pens out, and then grabbing one of the coloring books at random.

His left foot is propped onto the chair so he can lay is head onto it and he has to admit this isn’t as stupid as he thought it would be.

The afternoon blurs into colors and forms and music.

Every now and then he risks a look at Iwaizumi, studying his face for a while before going back to the question of which color to take next.

Iwaizumi seems to be thinking about nothing. Just doing without even knowing what he’s doing.

Tooru guesses that’s what art is.

But the absolute rarity of calmness on Iwaizumi’s face is sending Tooru to neverland.

Rare sun rays skimmer through the small window as soft music plays in the background. Every now and then they stretch and get a new cup of coffee.

It’s one of the least stressful afternoons Tooru has had in a long time.

.

The days after go by in a blur.

Tooru goes to work everyday like before and comes home to Iwaizumi. Sometimes Bokuto and/or Kuroo are there. They try to figure their next steps out and Kozume tells them about a meeting they set up with the two people who can make fake IDs.

They have nice evenings together and Tooru forgets all his worries when music echoes through the small apartment, supported by intoxicating laughter.

When he’s alone with Iwaizumi, he mostly tries to cheer Tooru up with stupid movies. Tooru notices how the space between them as they sit on the couch gets smaller everyday, until he falls asleep one night, attached to Iwaizumi’s side.

When he wakes up the next day he’s tucked under blankets and alone, a heavy coldness beside him.

His only problem with Iwaizumi is their lack of talking.

Well, they do talk, but it’s nothing important. Tooru knows next to nothing about him. He has no idea where Iwaizumi grew up, how he got into his job. He knows nothing about his past and it picks at him.

He doesn’t tell Iwaizumi anything either, afraid he will just be annoying. He doesn’t talk about his job and the new inhumane experiment he has to work on. If he speaks it out, it will only become more real and Tooru can’t take that.

In the back of his head still lingers the fact that Iwaizumi thinks he’s pretty, and apparently Bokuto does too, but that’s not important. Tooru doesn’t understand why. Iwaizumi has seen him in his most horrible condition and only knows about all the horrible things he’s done.

Tooru isn’t pretty. He is a mess, a pile of broken glass put together into a human form more than once. In the light he may reflect colors, but in the dark he is a hollow, transparent shell. He owns no colors.

He comes home a day before the meeting and feels horrible. The new experiment goes on and today the first person who got transformed woke up. Tooru doesn’t know why he is always the one who has to witness the patient’s wake ups. Either his superiors want to see him suffer or they think he will grow cold to it like them when he sees it often enough.

The screams of the now woman are still ringing in his head and he feels his brain shattering. So many feelings are floating through him and he can’t pin a single one down.

In the apartment he repeats the ritual with Marshmallow, who seems more than happy with the whole situation since he gets duplicated attention. The way Iwaizumi treats his dog is always a heartwarming scene. Tooru is glad they get along so easily and it swells his heart.

He shuffles into the living room where Iwaizumi is seated on the couch, even on the actual cushion you sit on, typing away on his phone.

As he notices Tooru he looks up and offers him a warm ‘Hello’, but he doesn’t look down at his mobile again. Instead, he keeps staring at Tooru, his expression shifting with worry and a crease forms between his eyebrows as he scowls.

Tooru doesn’t say anything. He just walks over and flops down beside Iwaizumi, leaning against his side as he hides his face in the others shoulder. In Tooru’s eyes, they are past the point where physical contact is weird. Still, he didn’t expect Iwaizumi to wrap his arm around his shoulder, keeping him close.

“We don’t have to talk, you know, but if you want to, we can,” he whispers and it’s soothing.

“I’m afraid I will cry then.”

“That’s not a bad thing.”

Tooru can feel himself warm up by the little shared contact. He can feel the way Iwaizumi’s thumb rubs circles into his upper arm, an attempt to soothe him. Tooru would be lying if he said it doesn’t work.

He takes a shuddering breath and talks, “They are doing a new experiment. They force homosexual people to undergo sex change surgeries. And the worst part is, I don’t understand what’s moving them to do that. What do they think will happen? That if you transform a gay man into a woman he will be a lesbian then because despite their gender they will stay homosexual? Of course they will still love the gender they loved before. What is their point despite making people’s lives a hell?”

Tooru can feel the oh so familiar burn of tears behind his eyes, he was right, speaking it out only makes matters worse. Iwaizumi seems at a loss of words.

He doesn’t know how long they sit there, Tooru silently sobbing as a wet patch forms onto Iwaizumi’s shirt, who is still rubbing circles on Tooru’s arm, until Iwaizumi speaks up again. It’s silent and Tooru can’t decide if hurt or anger is more prominent.

“I’m so sorry. I will get you out of there.”

Tooru would love to believe him, but at this point everything seems hopeless. He kinda wishes he never spoke up when Iwaizumi wanted to kill him.

His sobs are much louder by now and the air is getting thin as he buries his face even more into Iwaizumi’s shoulder, whose hand is now on the back of Tooru’s head.

“Would it help if you call in and say you’re sick? I know a doctor who still owes me. He could write you a sick message.”

Tooru snorts, “Of course you do. Is there even anyone who doesn’t owe you?”

 

He looks up at Iwaizumi through from tears clumped lashes and a veil of blurriness.

Iwaizumi just smiles.

“And yes. It may help.”

“Good. I will call him.”

And just like that, Tooru’s source of warmth is gone. He curls in on himself on the couch and waits for Iwaizumi’s return. He isn’t sure if he should tell him about his sexual orientation, which only makes it worse for him to work at an experiment like this. He doesn’t even know why it would feel wrong to tell him. Iwaizumi doesn’t seem like someone who would care about that, after all he called Tooru pretty. Still, he doesn’t want to.

Iwaizumi comes back with a sheet of paper which he passes to Tooru. It’s a confirmed sick message.

He frowns, “How did you get that so fast?”

“Faxing?”

“You have a fax machine? How old are you, twenty-five? And you still have a faxing machine?” Tooru can’t keep the smug grin off his lips.

“Shut up, it just spared you one month of not going to work, which is enough time for you to disappear. And this means, you will never have to go back there.”

Tooru’s eyes widen. Is it really over? He will never have to go back there. Tears are streaming down his face again, collecting at the sides of his mouth. He can feel a smile spreading his lips.

“It’s over.”

“It is,” Iwaizumi confirms.

After that, they eat and watch stupid shows on the TV with Marshmallow curled up at Tooru’s side, until a thought crosses his mind.

“Don’t you mind eating vegan all the time?” he asks as he looks at Iwaizumi, who is sitting really close to him.

“No. I’m a vegetarian myself, so I don’t really mind,” he answers without looking away from the screen, “besides, you won’t be here forever.”

There is a painful pang in Tooru’s chest and he twitches. Right. This will be over too. Why hasn’t he thought about that? Soon enough he will come home to an empty apartment again, only Marshmallow will be there. He doesn’t know why, but the thought of never seeing Iwaizumi again pains him.

After some more episodes of more stupid shows and laughter from the both of them, they retreat to their respective beds, which is in Tooru’s case the couch.

The past nights he has been able to sleep just fine. It has taken him some time to fall asleep, but it wasn’t as bad as the time before he stayed at Iwaizumi’s. Tonight, though, something is off.

He isn’t aware of how long he lays on the cushions, tossing and turning, hoping for sleep to finally take him away. But it won’t come. Some time into it, Marshmallow seems to be annoyed from all the movements and jumps of the sofa to find a peaceful place to sleep.

Something is stirring inside of him, he’s succumbed to the weight of the world. His body feels so tired but thoughts are running through his head with hundred mph.

In his overly tired state, there seems to be only one solution.

Tooru gets up and wander to Iwaizumi’s bedroom door. Suddenly, he rethinks the whole situation, he shouldn’t do this. It will only annoy Iwaizumi and they aren’t that close to do this. But he is already knocking.

Cursed be his habit of moving and then thinking.

“Come in.”

It’s faint and muffled. Tooru guesses he has his face buried in the cushion.

Stepping away now would be rude, so he opens the door. Iwaizumi is sitting upright in his bed now, scowling at Tooru and even from the distance Tooru can see how glassy his eyes are from sleep. He feels bad for waking him. He should just think of some other reason to have knocked and then go away. He doesn't even know why he came here in the first place.

Iwaizumi suddenly moves over, making some room on his right side, as he holds the blanket up. An expectant look is on his face as he stares at Tooru, who gulps and stares back dumbfounded.

That’s not what he expected. Was he that easy to read for Iwaizumi?

Before he can think any more, his feet are moving over the floor and he curls up under the blanket, face scrunched into Iwaizumi’s chest.

He can feel Iwaizumi’s warmth envelope him and he sighs in content. The blankets and Iwaizumi himself smell like nature. Tooru suddenly feels very calm.

He can feel himself being lulled into sleep, can feel the steady rise and fall of Iwaizumi’s chest as his breathing evens out.

The mattress suddenly shifts and there is a weight on Tooru’s legs. Startled, an ungraceful yelp leaves his lips and he pulls his knees up, momentarily forgetting there is someone in bed with him until his knees knock against resistance.

“Fuck!” Iwaizumi hisses and Tooru isn’t sure if it’s from shock or pain.

“I’m so sorry! Oh god, I didn’t mean to,” he breaks his try to excuse himself as he feels something cold and wet on the right half of the face.

His eyes shut and he jerks his head back into the pillow.

“Marshmallow,” he groans, “you asshole. Get out.”

“It’s fine. If you are allowed to stay, the dog is too.”

Tooru can almost see the stupid smirk on Iwaizumi’s face.

“I can kick you again.”

“And I can kick you out of my bed. So think twice, even though you don’t seem like someone who does that frequently.”

How is it possible that even after such a short time Iwaizumi has him already figured out? It scares Tooru to hell and back.

The mattress dips again as Marshmallow taps around the bed until he curls up between Tooru’s and Iwaizumi’s legs.

There is an arm around Tooru’s waist, nudging him closer until he is pressed against Iwaizumi again. His arms don’t leave their position around Tooru’s waist.

Never in his life has he felt more comfortable and content. Maybe with his sister. But a bitter aftertaste clings to those memories now.

Tooru still remembers crawling into her bed when he was a child and afraid, afraid of his parents. She always took him in, promising to always protect him.

Can’t he have something like this for the rest of his days? He has been alone for far too long.

“I’m sorry I disturbed you and woke you up,” Tooru whispers.

“It’s fine. You woke me the first night.”

Tooru’s eyes shoot open and he feels Iwaizumi tense.

“What?”

“You don’t remember?” There’s a short pause where Tooru shakes his head, under lip between his teeth and he’s not sure if he wants to listen to the next words, “I woke up because I heard screaming. Well, turns out it was you. You were kicking and screaming in your sleep.”

“I didn’t know that. Why didn’t you tell me? Have I done it again?”

“I didn’t know how to tell you. What was I supposed to say?” They are both still whispering, as if the slightest increasing of their voices could break the atmosphere, “And yes. You did it again. Nearly every night.”

Tooru goes mute. He never realized this, but it would explain why his voice is always so hoarse and his throat always so sore in the morning. He has to be such a burden. Before he knows it, it’s too hot under the blanket. His heart his pumping at a merciless speed, letting blood gush through his veins.

“What have you done in those situations?” Tooru forces his voice out and it sounds so strained and distant.

“I hugged you, waited until you calmed down again and then lay you back down. It seemed to help you. Waking you up didn’t help.”

His throat feels tight and for the third time that day tears stream down his face. Iwaizumi is so nice to him and still he is a huge burden to him. He’s disgusted by himself so much, Iwaizumi touching him just knots his stomach even more. Tooru is afraid Iwaizumi will soon be disgusted by him too.

His body is shuddering with the effort it takes him to breath. But still, he makes no sounds.

“Shhh,” Iwaizumi’s arm around him tightens and he pulls Tooru even closer, “it’s fine. I got you. You are not a burden, okay? Don’t even think that.”

 

Tooru breaks. He lets his sobs be heard, letting all of the desperation and remorse he feels seep into his voice as he breathes it out.  
He wraps his right arm around Iwaizumi and clutches the fabric of his shirt, feeling something like familiarity.

There’s a shift in their position and Iwaizumi’s other arm is also around his body, his hand cradling through his hair. Fully wrapped up in the other man, his breathing evens out.

He concentrates on Iwaizumi’s hot breaths which combs through his hair, his fingers which rub soothing circles into his back, his legs who are now tangled with his own.

Tooru is so tired.

.

As Tooru wakes up the next morning, he thinks this has to be the feeling you have after sleeping through a whole night. He can’t remember when the last time was that he felt so refreshed.

But the heavy feeling of sleep is still so thick in his bones, it makes the whole ‘sleeping-for-a-whole-night’ less appealing.

Groggily, he feels around on the mattress, only to be met with coldness beside him. Iwaizumi must be awake already.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he makes his way into the kitchen where the other man is already cooking again, in the company of a pleading Marshmallow, of course.

Iwaizumi, in all his morning grace, is stumbling through the kitchen with an apron on and lazily swaying his hips to the song faintly ringing in the background.

Tooru stands unnoticed in the doorway for a while, taking in the oddly domestic scene in front of him. He is sure it will give him more cavities than Iwaizumi’s overly sweet cooking could ever.

The way the first sun rays dip the furniture in a soft orange hue and tingled in Marshmallow’s fur is a sight in itself. The room is damped by a hazy feeling and Tooru thinks he belongs here for a moment, before reminding himself this, whatever it is, is only temporary. A sting rushes through his chest at the pure thought of being alone in an apartment, somewhere he now doesn’t even know.

With a sorrow filled sigh he enters the room and speaks a “Good Morning”. Immediately, Marshmallow latches onto him as if they haven’t seen each other in years. Tooru gladly accepts his enthusiasm and picks him up, allowing him to lick all over his face. He had grown adjusted to it, so why bother stopping him?

Iwaizumi turns around and greets him with a rumbled “Mornin’” before going back to whatever he’s currently brewing on the stove.

Tooru sets Marshmallow back down and wanders over to Iwaizumi, using his height advantage to look over his shoulder as he scowls down into the pan with his hands behind his back.

“Breakfast Hash?”

“Breakfast Hash,” Iwaizumi confirms.

Tooru watches a little longer as he stirs around, randomly adding some things, until he decides this will take a little more time. So he wanders into the bathroom to get ready. But not too ready. After all, he has to look like a man who can’t go to work for the next month due to sickness.

With his current state it is easy to convince people of that.

Dressed in sweats and a hoodie he emerged back into the kitchen just in time.

Iwaizumi sets the plates down before looking Tooru up and down, obviously not pleased with what he sees.

Tooru can feel himself heat up as anxiety starts to flood his senses. What did he do wrong now? Before he can get lost in his sea of self mutilating questions Iwaizumi speaks up.

“Your clothes are far too baggy on you. You can choose between eating voluntarily or me stuffing it down your throat.”

His voice is deeper than usual and even more abraded. If Tooru listens closely, he thinks he can hear the crunching sound of pebbles when you walk over them.

“I’ve never met anyone who cared for me as brutishly and forcefully as you.”

“Shut up and eat.”

And so he does. Tooru is kind of glad Iwaizumi is far from being a morning person. That way they can sit in comfortable silence and Tooru doesn’t have to fear talking about last night.

After he drowns his third coffee and earns a disapproving look from Iwaizumi at his ridiculous caffeine consume, he gets up and leaves with a “I’ll be right back”.

.

At the reception of God’s Tree Tooru gives his notification of illness to the humble looking lady across the counter.

Even if he’s so far away from the room where the real shit happens, he can still sense the calamity in the air as it tingles his skin, leaving his blood thick and gooey in his veins.

The damp light of the horrendous neon lights doesn’t help the stinging feeling, the feeling of millions of needles poking into his skin. He can feel his throat swelling. He just wants to leave.

He hasn’t even realized that the woman retreated into the back room until she emerges back behind the counter and starts talking.

“I noticed you getting worse with every day. I’m glad you finally went to see a doctor.”

Tooru just smiles weakly at her. Does she even know what’s going on behind her back? She seems too nice to work here.

But the good thing is, he can fake his role of the oh so sick man just perfectly.

“I will see you again. Have a nice day.”

He’s already turned around, trying to get out of this house of pure horror when the woman pipes up again.

“Here,” she has her right arm extended all the way over the counter, a sticky note between her fingers, “if you get better, how about a dinner?”

Tooru feels like laughing. Even if he dated woman he would never date one who worked in the devil’s own establishment. He doesn’t want to reject her though so he takes the note and smiles at her in confirmation.

If she knew him, she would have known this isn’t a sincere smile but one formed of desperation mixed with the irony of life.

Outside and out of sight he throws the note with the hastily scribbled digits on it into the next bin and walks back to Iwaizumi.

.

When Tooru gets back into the flat, neither Iwaizumi nor Marshmallow are to be found. Tooru guesses they went for a walk and then pouts because they didn’t wait for him to tag along.

So his solution is to flop down onto the still warm couch and try to sleep even more. Simply because he feels like it.

The voice of freedom is still ringing in his head. Still, there is a biting sensation clinging to him. Running away is not his way. Tooru is the kind of person who tackles problems right on.

But never in his life will he have to set foot into the asylum again. All thanks to Iwaizumi. Tooru doesn’t know where he would be right now without him. Probably dead.

In a twisted way he is really glad for Iwaizumi trying to kill him. It all feels much lighter and brighter right now. He feels like there is no worry for the future. Even though there are many, he just pushes them into a far corner of his mind, as always. These are thoughts for another time. He currently doesn’t want to bother with the future.

But the present is heavily wrapped around his mind. Tooru doesn’t know if he is delighted by the fact this nightmare is over. He knows he should be, but it feels so surreal. He’s just so numb.

And what is he supposed to think of Iwaizumi? The man tried to kill him, but still, it feels right to be with him and, in an odd way, he feels safe beside him. Tooru just wants to know if he is starved of touch and longing for something or if it really is just Hajime.

Stop. They aren’t on first name basis. Are they?

Hundreds of thoughts are crashing in his mind and a headache starts to build up and oh why does he always has to think so much? He just wants to sleep, why doesn’t his mind want the same? How can his body be so drained but it feels like his mind is on high speed all the same.

A sudden knocking on the door rips him out of his circling thoughts and Tooru is petrified for a short moment, not believing it really was there. His imagination is playing a trick on him, right?

A flood of new thoughts crash over him, the kind of thoughts you really don’t want to have. Who possibly could that be? Someone who is searching for him? Another hitman trying to kill him? Why won’t they just leave him alone?

Oh great, now there are tears again. Everything is too overwhelming right now.

But fuck this. Running away is not an option, there is too much pride in his veins for that.

Wearily he gets up and wanks to the door, looking through the peephole.

Immediately he rips the door open and lets himself crash into the body in front of him.

“Well. That’s a really nice way to be greeted. I could get used to that.”

Tooru feels arms wrap around him and he slowly relaxes into the touch. He will never be able to be alone, will he?

“What’s up? I’m worried. Should we go inside?”

So many questions. Why are there always so many questions?

Tooru feels himself being pushed inside and he can hear the door click into the lock. Before he can realize what’s happening he is shoved onto the sofa. The arms around him are gone and there is no warmth around him anymore. He tries to steady his look again, but everything is blurred by the damn tears.

There are movements in front of him and suddenly there is the noise of glass on glass and then there is warmth on his right side, an arm around his shoulders. Ah, he’s back. Tooru involuntarily leans into the embrace.

“You want to tell me what’s going on?”

Tooru tries to pull himself together, he really wants to answer. There still is a slight tremble in his voice, but there are no hiccups, that’s a start.

“I can’t be alone anymore. There are so many thoughts in my head. No, not thoughts, questions. Questions I don’t have answers to and I’m not sure if I even want them. Fuck, I’m confused and overwhelmed. I just want to sleep, but I can’t and I don’t want to whine, for fuck’s sake,” the statement is followed by a pause where he takes a deep breath. His next word come out as a shuddering laugh more than a statement, “I’m a damned walking paradox.”

“You don’t have to be alone. And also, I can understand why you’re whining. You are already very strong. I would literally just lie in a corner and cry.”

Tooru huffs a laugh at the statement.

“Thank you, Kuroo.”

“That’s what friends are for, huh?”

Oh. So they are friends. That’s nice.

“What do you want me to do to spoil you?” Kuroo asks while moving his head so he can look at Tooru.

“Milk bread.”

“Ok. How about something I can actually offer right now?”

Tooru doesn’t notice as Kuroo fiddles with his phone.

“Just stay.”

“That, I can do.”

Tooru feels himself getting lighter and lighter. His mind finally slowing down as he’s held by his friend. He almost doesn’t notice the question slipping through his lips.

“How do you know you are in love?”

Never in his life has he been in love. Yes, he felt attraction, but it was plainly physical, nothing emotional. So, how should he know?

Tooru feels Kuroo huffing above him and he can literally see the smirk on the other’s face.

“This won’t be a satisfying answer, but you just know. But what I can tell you is, that questioning and thinking about it is mostly the first step.”

Fucking know-it-all.

As Tooru slips back into sleep there is only one thought in his head:

I am royally screwed.

.

Hajime comes back home from his, maybe a little too long, walk with Marshmallow to find Oikawa and Kuroo curled up on his couch and oh, there’s a sting in his chest.

Oikawa is neatly placed on top of Kuroo, who has his arms wrapped around him. Kuroo is playing with his phone behind Oikawa’s back and only looks up at Hajime from under his glasses and pushes an index finger to his lips.

Hajime has to pick Marshmallow up, caging the pack of milk bread between his arm and chest, and shushes him so Oikawa won’t wake up from the high pitched squeals of happiness.

Hajime may have dragged his walk out for a while because he just had to think and get away from anything that reminded him of Oikawa. But after already walking for a while he realized it was stupid to take the one thing Oikawa holds dearest with him, Marshmallow.

It’s an inevitable topic and Hajime has to wrap his mind around it and well, he may like Oikawa. Too much, to be honest. Which is weird because not even weeks ago he hated the guy’s guts and tried to assassinate him. But there is nothing he can do. Hajime has resigned to the sensation.

He takes Marshmallow to the room Beets lives in, because the dog has found a liking in watching the reptile, and after that storages the bread in the kitchen. He returns to the living room and flops down onto the armchair across of Kuroo and looks at him with a raised eyebrow.

“He kind of fell into me when he opened the door? I think he had a breakdown or something. Maybe just a panic attack,” Kuroo whispers only so loud so Oikawa won’t wake up.

Hajime feels so guilty. He had promised to be there for him and then he just wasn’t. He isn’t sure if he’s happy or upset Kuroo came over.

Wait, why the hell is Kuroo here?

Hajime frowns, “why are you here?”

“How about you take the guy off me and then we talk.”

Hajime nods in acknowledgement and walks over to Kuroo, quickly scooping Oikawa up to carry him into the bedroom.

He makes sure the room is dark and wraps the sleeping body into a blanket before he leaves. Oh, how he would love to just lie down too.

He dismisses the thought and emerges back into the living room and sits down beside Kuroo, facing him.

“So?”

“Yeah well. You know we wanted to go to those two people together today, as in me, Kenma, Bokuto, Akaashi and you two, right?” Hajime already knows what follows and just nods well behaved, “turns out they just want to see you and Oikawa. We aren’t allowed to tag along. I will text you the direction later and well. I hope you can wrap the thing up. Kenma said those two are fucking annoying.”

Hajime just sighs in resignation and rubs his hands over his face.

“Why do I always have to deal with annoying people? As if I don’t know too much already,” his words are muffled by his hands, but Kuroo seems to still understand as Hajime receives a jab on the arm.

“Fuck off. I know you are glad you have us. I will just let myself out. Need to get back to Kenma.”

Kuroo gets up at that and Hajime can hear him opening the front door, but the shutting sound doesn’t come. Instead he can hear Kuroo’s voice again.

“By the way. I know what’s up with you. You aren’t as good at concealing emotions as you think you are and neither is he. We had a little talk, so just you know.”

Now there is the shutting sound, marking the time Hajime has a revelation.

He just sits in silence, thinking about Kuroo’s words. Why does he always have to speak in puzzles? Can’t he for once be straightforward?

The sound of an opening door is to be heard and Hajime whirls around and is met with a confused looking Oikawa with puffy eyes.

“Why was I in the bedroom? I remember falling asleep on the couch. Was Kuroo really here? Oh god, I’m going crazy, aren’t I?”

His voice is still raspy from sleep and Hajime just snorts.

“I carried you in because, yes, you fell asleep on the couch with, yes he was here, Kuroo. And you were already crazy before.”

Oikawa scowls and pushes his under lip out and Hajime has never in his life found this expression more endearing.

He walks over to the couch and sits down beside Hajime, immediately putting his feet on Hajime’s lap, as if they never have been different.

Oikawa’s voice attracted Marshmallow who bounced out of Beets’ room and jumped onto the couch, nuzzling into Oikawa’s side.

Hajime doesn’t know how to approach the topic of what happened today, but Oikawa beats him to it anyways.

“I was really confused this afternoon and I had too many thoughts and I just concluded I was going mad. My body was so tired and my mind won’t shut up. Then Kuroo came around and I finally fell asleep. That’s all.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t been here. I should have, I promised it, after all.”

“Don’t be. Please. You are already doing enough.”

Hajime can practically grab the “I’m sorry for being a burden” that never left Oikawa’s lips out of the air. So he just takes his hand and squeezes it in answer, to say “you aren’t”. Oikawa nods in understanding.

“Why was Kuroo even here?”

“Ah. He told me the guys we are supposed to meet today only want to see the two of us. No one knows why, but there will be a reason for it,” Hajime shrugs.

A hum of acknowledgement buzzes through the air from Oikawa’s side as he closes his eyes again. Hajime can’t help it, he studies his features.

All the curves, edges and bows of Oikawa’s bone structure are plainly perfect. Long bowed lashes girls would kill for and the way his hair is flat on one side makes him all the more endearing. The pale skin stretching over his body as a sign for his russian roots, leaves his skin glistening as if stardust is running through his vessels.

Ripping himself out of the trance Oikawa has him in, he speaks again, “we have to get going soon,” Hajime glances at his mobile, “Kuroo already texted me the address.”

Oikawa takes a deep breath and opens his eyes. Suddenly, he looks so much older. His eyes deeply set into his skull, darkness pooling around them and he seems deprived of everything.

.

The drive to the location Kuroo sent them is truly electric. The anticipation and nervousness in the air is almost unbearable.

Oikawa fiddles with his keychain the whole time and with blown-wide eyes he watches the scenery pass by. Hajime can see the glistening of fright behind them.

Normally, people don’t notice when Oikawa feels like that as he is too wrapped up in his pompous aura, high walls of security surrounding him. Hajime has none of that and sees right through him.

He notices the way Oikawa’s eyes flick back and forth, unsure of where to look. Notices his fingers trembling slightly and the bouncing of his legs. Notices how he bites onto his lip as if searching for a proof that this is really happening.

Hajime would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous, too. Usually he doesn’t meet up with people he has business with. Kozume has shown him enough tricks to be just fine with controlling everything through the twisted safety of the deep web.

Not much time passes before they arrive at their destination.

They are in front of a fairly normal apartment complex now, nothing unusual. It may not look as expensive as Oikawa’s, but you also can’t see on the first glimpse that weird things are happening in there, like it’s with Hajime’s building.

“Where do we need to ring?” Oikawa asks and on cue the door in front of them opens up.

Oikawa looks more and more confused with every passing moment. Complexities of feelings are scattered over his face as if he himself doesn’t know what he’s currently feeling.

There is a low voice, almost incomprehensible, coming from the speaker beside Hajime, “Second floor, fifth door on the right.”

Hajime just nods and leads the way to said door.

He has imagined the door to be open already, but no. It’s shut so he knocks once, twice.

There’s shuffling form the other side and Oikawa looks as if he’s not far away from vomiting all over the wooden door. They both seem to be creeped out from the unknown.

Light floods into the hallway as the door is opened and a lanky silhouette appears in the frame.

The person looks at Hajime, “Iwaizumi Hajime,” then floats his gaze to Oikawa, “Oikawa Tooru,” he nods in appreciation and takes a step inside, holding the door open for them to step in.

They get inside and the door behind them is shot not long after. They follow the man down the hall into an open spaced office like room with three desks and all kinds of machines and computer screens. On the right wall is a huge pinboard with all kinds of notes and sheets of paper attached to them. Kozume would love it here.

The long tables are ordered in an U-shape with two swivel chairs in the space between them. There is another man already sitting in one of them, hastily typing away on a keyboard.

A headphone pushes dark curls into different directions as his dark eyes scan fastly over the screen, face illuminated by the obnoxious bright light. The silver ring in the middle of his under lip reflecting the light metallically.

Two normal chairs are in front of the desk which is parallel to the wall in front of Hajime and the guy still standing beside them gestures lazily for them to sit down and then takes place in the free swivel chair.

Hajime and Oikawa do as instructed and awkwardly sit down. The air around them is too thick to even be considered air.

The man who let them in jabs the other one on the arm before jerking his head at the direction Hajime and Oikawa are seated in.

His blue eyes are intensely staring at them and Hajime feels his skull crushing under the weight of the gaze. Cunningness radiates from them non-stop as he studies the two men in front of him.

Pink strands of hair are peeking out from under the hem of the black beanie he’s wearing.

Dark hooded eyes are now on them too, flashing with calculation. Hajime can see lines and patches of colour twirling around his neck, disappearing under the collar of the checkered shirt he wears.

“I’m Hanamaki and he’s Matsukawa,” Hanamaki directs his thumb towards the one with the dark curls, “that’s all the personal stuff you have to know about us. Now, let’s talk about business. What exactly do you two want us to do?”

A smirk, eerily akin to Kuroo’s, twitches his lips after he spoke. To Hajime’s surprise, Oikawa is the one who speaks up.

“You have to fake me everything you can so I can emigrate into another country.”

“Oho. Are you a runaway?” Matsukawa wiggles his eyebrows at Oikawa who seems slightly taken aback, “Why that? Don’t you like Japan anymore? Or have you done something really bad?”

His voice is low and only rasped out at the end of the sentence.

Now Hajime is surprised by himself to speak up.

“It’s none of your business. We only know your names. Why should we give you details?” he hisses, trying to lay as much superiority into his voice as possible. He has his arms crossed, knowing damn well how to look intimidating.

Hanamaki lifts his hands, palms showed to Hajime, “We’re just curious. No more questions asked. But dear, you have to know which exact country you want to emigrate. We can’t make you a visa otherwise, you know?”

Oikawa just nods, his eyes stubbornly fixed onto Hanamaki.

“I don’t know yet,” he answers, sounding very annoyed as he pushes the words through gritted teeth.

Matsukawa claps his hands, mischief gracing his features, “Well then. Let’s get to our condition for doing this. You are a hitman, right, Iwaizumi?” he draws the name out far too long for Hajime’s liking. He nods.

“Good, good. So. You need to kill some people. To be exact, a group of four who are trying to outdo us. We can’t let that happen. That would be your payment.”

Hajime feels his guts coil into a knot agonizingly slowly. This contradicts his morals. Yes, even he has morals. Killing rapists and other scum is no problem for him. There is a reason why they should be punished. But those four people may have never harmed anyone. They only went into the wrong business at the wrong time in the wrong district.

Still he finds himself nodding, agreeing to the condition.

The promise of getting Oikawa out of here save outweighs his morals, and for once, he will overlook them.

“Great,” Hanamaki exclaims, cutting through Hajime’s thoughts, “we will message you the details in a chatroom in the deep web. It’s safer that way, you know? And don’t worry. We have your name. It won’t be hard to get to you.”

A knowing smirk is back on his lips as he intertwines his fingers, resting his head on top of them. Hajime wants to punch the stupid smirk out of his face.

“Now, shush. We have work to do here. And I don’t want to hear any complaints about the name I chose for you, understood?” Matsukawa’s gaze is fixed on Tooru who just nods confidently.

Like this, Hajime and Oikawa get up and let themselves out.

.

Tooru isn’t sure if this went good or bad. Never in his life has he done something like this.

But Iwaizumi seems happy with the way it went, so Tooru guesses it wasn’t that bad.

The only thing that’s bothering is Iwaizumi having to kill four pretty innocent people. Ok, they aren’t that innocent, they fake certified papers and all, but they don’t really harm anyone with it. How can he live with the knowledge of four people being killed just because of him? He doesn’t even know them and is unsure if this makes the whole thing better or worse.

Hah. Iwaizumi must hate him now.

Iwaizumi. The name is stuck in his head like an old Katy Perry song on loop.

Back in the apartment, the first thing Iwaizumi does is turning his computer on, only to find an invitation to a chat in the dark web.

“Fucking,” he cuts himself off with a groan, “that was fast.”

He is right. Tooru can’t shake the feeling off that these two can be very dangerous if you don’t watch your steps. He isn’t sure if all of this is right anymore.

“Get the dog out of the living room. Put him into Beets’ room and close the door.”

Tooru scowls down at the dog in his lap, royally confused about what’s going on, but he doesn’t say anything. He follows suit and locks Marshmallow into the room with Beets. Marshmallow doesn’t seem to be negatively affected by it, only delighted to see the other weird dog again.

His eyes hurt. Sleeping with contact lenses sure is a stupid idea. He walks into the bathroom and exchanges his lenses for glasses. Still in the bathroom he comes to the conclusion to shower already. Droplets of water are still scattered in the shower from Iwaizumi earlier that day.

After he absorbed the warmth from the hot water he backs out, drying himself off and puts his clothes back on. Not feeling like blow drying his hair he emerges back into the living room with damp hair and flops down beside Iwaizumi on the couch, who is concentratedly working on something, fidgeting with his hands and- Oh. He’s rolling a joint.

Tooru watches closely how he distributes the herbs on the paper, adjusting the filter and carefully rolling. He has never seen how this is done, but it seems easy. Although Tooru knows it’s not. Iwaizumi licks the paper that isn’t rolled and attaches it to the joint before twisting the end together. Only then he looks up to Tooru with a raised eyebrow, “You don’t mind, do you?”

“It’s your apartment. You can do whatever you please. But I want a drag.”

Iwaizumi just nods with a crooked smile. Tooru has never done this. Sometimes he smokes cigarettes, but that’s more of a bad habit. This is something entirely different, but still, his curiosity gets the better of him. He is aware of the fact that drugs can help with psychological problems and stress, he studied that shit after all. As long as he doesn’t get addicted it’s fine, right?

He watches Iwaizumi lighting the joint and taking the first drag, holding it in before releasing it through his nose.

“How often do you do that?” Tooru asks and he is not sure where the concern in his voice is coming from.

“Not often. Most of the time with Bokuto and Kuroo, but I just craved it right now,” he shakes his head and chuckles a little and Tooru suddenly doesn’t mind the drugs at all.

“Have you ever done it?” he asks, staring right at Tooru, who can only gulp and shake his head. Iwaizumi just extends the joint towards him and instructs him, “Don’t overdo it, take three short drags and hold them in a little before breathing out. Even though you have smoked before, you will cough.”

Tooru takes the joint between his index and ring finger. To his own surprise, he isn’t shaking. He takes a short breath and keeps the smoke in his lungs for a while.

He releases it through his nose like Iwaizumi did, but he feels no different than before. He wants to start complaining but his tongue just seems way too big for his mouth and he feels like he has forgotten how to speak. A fit of coughing overcomes him, Iwaizumi is just smiling lazily at him. His face screaming “I know”.

Suddenly thousands of ants start crawling underneath his skin. Gravity starts to make no sense at all. Something is pulling him up but at the same time he’s being pushed into the cushions.

The feeling starts to spread through his body, leaving his limbs too heavy and he feels like melting into the couch. He can hear Iwaizumi laughing beside him, sounding like he’s meters away or underwater. Tooru feels himself relax and a content sigh escapes his lips.

Tooru can feel the corners of his lips being pulled up. He can’t stop smiling. Everything feels so strange.

The joint is taken from his fingers and Tooru wants to look, only to realize his eyelids have fallen shut along the way. Images of his childhood play inside his mind like a slideshow. They all seem to be straight out of a polaroid camera, old and tinged sepia.

Suddenly his heart starts hammering in his chest and it feels like an amboss is on his chest. Breathing gets harder and he feels so tired right now.

There is a shift on the couch, probably Iwaizumi getting up. After god knows how much time, music starts playing and Tooru isn’t sure if it’s real or only in his head, no, he doesn’t know the song. It has to be real. He has lost every ability to measure time, everything that’s happening feels like it’s passing in slow-mo.

He manages to crack one eye open to look at Iwaizumi who’s now sitting beside him again. His vision is lagging, everything is still moving even when his head is still. Iwaizumi seems to get what he tries to ask.

“They are called Glass Animals. Nice to listen to when you are high.”

Iwaizumi is smiling constantly and Tooru is sure he has never seen a smile more beautiful. Even in his current state he can see the shift in Iwaizumi’s personality. It seems so much more open and generally more light. Tooru just smiles along.

So they sit on the old, but comfortable couch, passing the joint between themselves and getting higher with every hit. Tooru manages to regain some control over his mind again, but therefore he is overwhelmed with the way the soft fabric of the couch feels between his fingers, how his skin tingles when a droplet of water falls from his hair onto his shoulder, the warmth that runs through him just because Iwaizumi is sitting beside him.

Everytime he shifts his look from one place to another he only sees a blurred image, it’s as if his brain is lagging when it comes to receiving signals from his senses. His mind is therefore running non-stop and questions are stacked over one another.

He tries to grasp one, but as sudden as they come, as sudden they are gone.

How did people get the idea to measure time? How did they get the idea to measure something that didn’t exist at that time? Something you can’t touch or see?

He needs to stop thinking, dammit.

“Why doesn’t it bother you to flee the country? Don’t you have a family? Friends?” it’s Iwaizumi’s voice that breaks through the movements in his brain.

“No. Well, I have a family. At least some. Like, my sister lives in Kyoto, but I haven’t talked to here in years. Oh no, wait. I talked to here a few weeks ago on the phone. Didn’t end well. I guess that was the last time I ever talked to her,” he laughs humorless at his own words, it’s tragic, really, “my mother died two years ago and I don’t know where my father is, nor do I care. I don’t know any other people from my family. We’ve never been close to them. The only one I’ve been close to from my family is my grandmother, but she died a long time ago.”

Iwaizumi is looking curiously at him, not even trying to conceal his interest anymore. He seems to contemplate what to say next until he scowls at himself as if to say “fuck it”.

“What happened with you and your family? You don’t seem to have the best connection to them,” he asks with only a tad of worry, which could have been so easily overheard, but Tooru still picked it up.

He doesn’t know why he even wants to answer, why he wants to answer honestly. He could just lie, but he knows Iwaizumi would see right through him. And somehow, he wants to talk about it. Maybe also because he thinks if he gives Iwaizumi bits of himself, he will get bits of Iwaizumi back.

“Well. Let’s keep this short. My mother was abusive. Towards me, my sister and my father, who did nothing against it, except for drowning his misery in alcohol. He never did anything, didn’t fend for himself or me and my sister. He was just there. When my sister turned eighteen, I was fourteen at that time, she packed everything she had at that moment, including me, and we moved to Kyoto. And how fate wanted it, one day she came came home earlier and found me with another guy. Long story short, she wanted to send me to therapy but I refused. I lived with her a few weeks more after that and then I turned eighteen and she threw me out. I moved to Tokyo then to finish my studies and well, here I am.”

Tooru has to stop himself from talking. Turns out he is the kind of person that rambles non-stop when high, his brain to mouth filter even less present than anyway. Is this or alcohol worse? He needs to find that out some time.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” his voice is dripping with compassion and Tooru can’t decide if he’s happy or disgusted by it. Why can he never decide?

“What about your family? You don’t seem to be close to them,” Tooru asks, thinking this is a good moment to get at least something from Iwaizumi’s personality.

The other groans and rubs his hand over his face, a motion Tooru is as familiar with as the wiggling of Marshmallow’s tail. He smiles hazily to himself.

“There isn’t much to say. I grew up with only my mother, my father left when she was pregnant, I have no siblings or any other family. They all kind of disowned my mother for getting pregnant before marriage. She died three years ago because of cancer. She could have survived, but we didn’t have the money for the treatment.”

Tooru has heard so many tragic stories, simply because of his studies but never has anyone sounded as hurt and broken as Iwaizumi right in front of him. His voice sounding as if something is shattering in his windpipes and Tooru almost feels bad for asking. Iwaizumi just stares at his hands and he looks so old, you can see how much he loved his mother.

Tooru has never felt more than loathing for his own. He comes to the conclusion to change the topic as Iwaizumi’s eyes grow more and more distant, nearly spilling.

“How did it happen that you are a hitman?”

Iwaizumi chuckles sincerely, “Honestly, I’m not sure myself. It kind of just happened,” there it is again, the smile that can change Tooru’s feelings like the wind can change direction, “I was in the army but got discharged after I hurt my shoulder badly. Well, I kind of stumbled into this whole hitman thing. Some guy heard that I was discharged and offered me a job, after all I have experience,” Iwaizumi air quotes the word “experience”,”and after I did that I met Kuroo and he just sealed the deal and got me into this officially. Kozume helped me running the thing in the dark web and introduced me to Bokuto and Akaashi.”

Tooru is at a loss for words. How can someone “stumble” into something like that. What was Iwaizumi even thinking?

“Before you ask, I accepted the jobs because I wanted to pay for my mother’s treatment, but I was too late.”

Even though Tooru knows Iwaizumi is currently so high, he could spit onto the Burj Khalifa, his green eyes are gleaming with a clearnes, as sharp as ever. Deep down there is a sadness hidden and Tooru knows Iwaizumi will never forgive himself, even though there is nothing to be forgiven.

“I really don’t want to say it, but at the same time I do want to say it,” Iwaizumi looks rather confused at him, “you know how that feels. But, I’m so sorry.”

A weak smile splits Iwaizumi’s lips and Tooru tries his best to smile back. For quite some time they just sit beside each other, finding comfort in the sheer presence of the other, no words spoken. The blunt is already smoked to the butt and gets tossed into the ashtray, where strings of smoke still rise.

Thoughts have left Tooru’s mind a long time ago, he’s just sitting there and lets the warm, hazy feeling spread in his body. Everything feels so different, every touch a hundred times more intense than before, pictures pour into his head and sounds he’s sure aren’t even there echo in his head. Tooru isn’t sure if he will ever be not high again.

There is a disgusting woozy feeling on his tongue mixed with a bitter taste. There is a desert in his mouth and since when is he so thirsty?

He doesn’t know since when Iwaizumi is staring at him, but suddenly he is aware of the hot gaze directed to the side of his head. Tooru feels like his breath is knocked out of his lungs caused by the pressuring gaze.

Slowly, he slides his eyes open and peeks at Iwaizumi, who is eying him with such intensity, he feels himself pinned to the sofa. Tooru realizes the shift in the atmosphere around them, suddenly able to feel the unbearable heat in the flat and gravity is so much more prominent.

The beating of his heart speeds up as blood gushes through his body. Before he can think about his next words, they already passed his lips.

“You look at me like you want to fuck me.”

That is blunt, even for Tooru’s conditions. He wants to take the words back, laugh it off as if he was only joking. In his mind thousands of phrases, words, he could choose from, but the right ones seem to slip like sand through his fingers.

“Maybe I do.”

That takes Tooru aback. Iwaizumi watches him with a blank expression besides his lips being curved upwards and a spark in his eyes. Tooru really wants to fan it into a flame.

He moves fast like quicksilver. Why he even moves is a mystery to him. He can’t even feel his legs. Is it because he’s starving for some touch, some human interaction, or is it really just because of Iwaizumi. Tooru will make his mind up later, right now, with wool in his head, he doesn’t care.

He’s neatly sitting on Iwaizumi’s lap and straddling him. The warmth that emanates from Iwaizumi is nearly burning him. The latter’s hands are on his hips and Tooru isn’t sure what to do anymore, his brain is short circuiting. Iwaizumi’s whole presence is so much and still not enough. The hands on his hips tingle his bones delicately, but all the same he feels like being crushed.

Tooru isn’t sure if he should say something, his thoughts feel like scrambled eggs in his head. He chuckles at the thought and Iwaizumi just blinks at him confused. He doesn’t know where to put his hands, how long has it been since his last time? He isn’t sure anymore. He isn’t sure of anything anymore and there is a sudden wave of insecurity washing over him. What if Iwaizumi doesn’t like what he sees? What if he does something wrong? Oh god, what if it will be awkward tomorrow? Oh, damn his stupid what-if-questions.

A hand is suddenly at the side of his head, tangling in his hair and Tooru all but melts into the touch. Iwaizumi taps with his index and middle finger at his skull.

“I can literally see the gears rattling in your head. Stop thinking for a while.”

The hand in Tooru’s hair slithers down to his neck and he is janked forward, before he can grasp what’s happening, Iwaizumi’s lips are on his.

As if they have no time to waste, the kiss deepens, their first kiss. Growing more passionate with every second. Hot open mouthed kisses, nothing you could call graceful, rather, bordering on sloppy, are exchanged. Tooru feels like fainting. His mouth feels fuzzy and even without Iwaizumi’s tongue in it, it feels too cramped.

Both of them start to grind against each other and Tooru can feel himself getting hard. Warm calloused hands are roaming over his body under the shirt and nothing has ever felt better. There is a roughness to Iwaizumi’s hands that leaves Tooru feeling as if his skin is being scraped off, every touch leaving a boiling trail of fire on his body.

By the time they break apart, both of them are panting and not even bothering with closing their mouths again. Goofy grins are placed on both of their faces and Tooru can’t decide if the atmosphere is just hazy or hot. He thinks both is good.

It’s said time loses its meaning when you are high. Tooru never believed it, the statement has always been a cliché to him, but oh has he been wrong. He has no idea how long they have been making out like teenagers on their first date to the low music in the background, but based on his trembling legs it’s been quite some time.

In a haze of clarity they get rid of their clothes. Iwaizumi’s whole body is fierce and smooth against his skin, feeling like a blanket Tooru wants to just curl up in. There are so many sensations on his skin. Pearls of sweat running down his body, cold brushes of air and Iwaizumi.

In a sudden movement the latter sits up and bends forward, leaving Tooru to just lay back. The still present cotton in his head causes him to laugh at the awkwardness of the whole situation. Both of them stupidly high, probably not even knowing what they are doing, and about to fuck.

What Iwaizumi is currently doing is a mystery to him, he’s too entranced by the twitching of the latter’s muscles in his arms under his fingers to even spare it a thought.

Iwaizumi pulls them back into the position of before and Tooru sees what he’s been doing. Beside his leg on the cushion is now a bottle of lube and a condom. He would have forgotten about it to be honest.

Open mouthed kisses are pressed all over Tooru’s chest, within minutes a garden of purple and red flowers grows on his chest and he can’t keep the fond smile off his face. Iwaizumi gazes at his work in acknowledgement, biting his bottom lip, and there goes Tooru’s last trace of sanity.

Iwaizumi in all his disheveled grace is a sight for itself and Tooru begs the gods to help him burn the image into his head.

“Fuck, you are beautiful, Tooru,” Iwaizumi breathes with a strained voice. His name sounded so good when Iwaizumi says it and shivers tingle down his spine.

Bolts of pleasure rush through his body with every more kiss Iwaizumi presses to his skin, all gentle but passionate all the same. As if Tooru’s made of porcelain and he’s never felt more comfortable in his skin than now.

With every movement their cocks brush against each other, already slick with precum. Not that he’s not enjoying this, but he wants to get started. The friction of skin to skin drives him crazy and he mewls at every touch, as faint as it might be.

Iwaizumi seems to get the hint as his hands leave Tooru and he grabs the condom and lube, uncaps it and pours a generous amount onto his fingers, rubbing them together to get the liquid warm after pulling the condom over himself.

The sight and anticipation of what comes next alone speeds Tooru’s heartbeat up and he rocks his hips down into Iwaizumi, drawing the first groan from the latter.

Satisfied with the response, he grins and threads his fingers into Iwaizumi’s silky hair, watching him intensely. Iwaizumi has a body like Adonis himself.

From the corner of his eye he can see Iwaizumi reaching back, getting started on preparing Tooru. The touch catches him off guard anyways and his hips buck forward, a soft moan escaping his lips.

With the first finger, Tooru starts shivering violently already, with the second, he arches his back and with a third, his head lolls back and moans regularly escape him.

His nerves tingle with arousal and as far as he can see, Iwaizumi isn’t doing much better.  
Tooru’s string of patience snaps and he shushes Iwaizumi’s hand away.

“I’m fine,” he huffs out between deep breaths and little chuckles.

Iwaizumi’s eyes are glazed over with a haze, but they extract nothing but pure adoration. His hands find their way back onto Tooru’s hips in an attempt to steady him.

Raising his hips, Tooru aligns Iwaizumi’s cock and sinks down, torturously slow. Tooru is not able to fully control his body, everything he wants to do lags and it takes him hours to move.

Iwaizumi is throwing his head back and groans lowly, the sound rumbles through Tooru’s very body, shaking his bones.

A slow rhythm starts to build up, Tooru slowly rising his hips and Iwaizumi slowly bucking into him. Normally, under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t be fond of the slow pace, but right now, in this state, it is the best he can wish for. And probably the best they can do right now.

Tooru’s hands magically found their way onto either side of Iwaizumi’s face, their foreheads touching. He really wants to make out, but only the thought of moving his lips while moving his hips exhausts him.

Iwaizumi’s hands seem to be unable to stay still as they still map over Tooru’s body, still leaving fiery trails after them. He is being handled with so much caution and tenderness, to which he is absolutely not used to.

There are no words spoken, both of them seemingly know what the other wants.

Between panting and choirs of laughter, Iwaizumi’s hand is suddenly on Tooru’s cheek and he leans into the touch.

His thumb ghosts over Tooru’s cheekbone, smearing something wet all over it and oh, tears.

Iwaizumi’s other hand is now wrapped around Tooru’s cock, beginning to pump his fist in a steady rhythm. Voiceless moans shudder through Tooru, his whole body begging for release.

Again, there is laughter bubbling up his throat, which is only cut of by a low moan as heat starts to pool in his stomach.

A soft askew canon of “Tooru” and “Hajime” is to be heard as both of them come and Tooru can feel hot air fill his head. Panting harder than before, he slumps down against Iwaizumi’s heavily breathing chest. The lights in his head go out as he feels himself relax and arms sling around his still shivering frame.

.

When Tooru wakes up, he can feel the softness of a mattress beneath him and a new, but familiar, kind of dizzy is in his head. A pounding headache makes him grone.

As he tries to wrap his mind around what had happened the last night he realizes he’s really thirsty, like he hasn’t drank anything in seven years.

A glimpse to the bedside table offers him the sight of a bottle of water. Too fast for his head he sits up und chugs the cap open to drink while unnerving strong strokes of pain bolt through his head.

When finished, he sits back against the headboard and why isn’t he wearing a shirt? Realization dawns on him. Now that he knows, he can smell the scent of sex still lingering on himself.

Tooru isn’t completely sure if he wants to face Iwaizumi right now. Isn’t it weird? Also, he knows the ignorance would kill him sooner or later. He really wants to know where they stand. And he’s hungry.

With his mind made up, he grabs his glasses and puts them on. Next, he throws one of Iwaizumi’s shirts, which is too short but at the same time too baggy, on and tabs into the kitchen and like everyday, Iwaizumi is already there, cooking. Tooru has no idea what time it is or even what day, but in all honesty, he neither cares nor wants to know.

Awkwardly he stands in the doorframe, trying to get a simple ‘Morning’ over his lips. Instead, he just remains rooted to his spot and shuffles his feet.

“Do you just want to linger at the door or come in?”

Iwaizumi’s voice startles him so much, he has to take a step back. When he looks up, he’s still greeted with the sight of the others back. Seriously, does this guy have eyes in the back of his head?

“I just like what I see from here, thank you very much,” he shoots back pettily.

Iwaizumi just snorts with a shake of his head and Tooru may be half blind, but he can see redness on the tips of the others ears.

“Can I help you in any way?” he asks instead of thinking about it too much.

“Wash the fruits”

As commanded, Tooru walks over in front of the sink, right beside Iwaizumi to get to work.

Only now, Iwaizumi looks at him. Tooru can watch his eyes widen and right. Iwaizumi’s shirt is the only thing he’s wearing. He winks at the other man as soon as their glances cross. Iwaizumi just rolls his eyes and keep working. Tooru pouts at the lack of a response.

On the contrary to what he expected, the atmosphere isn’t awkward or tense at all. If it is something, then it’s plainly domestic and Tooru would be lying if he said he doesn’t like it.

During breakfast Tooru finds out that Iwaizumi will start to observe the four guys he is supposed to kill today. Tooru also finds out that he already has a plan which includes blowing up a building.

“You will drag innocent people into death with that,” Tooru mutters after hearing of the plan.

“Of course I won’t. Hanamaki and Matsukawa texted me today and told me they operate from an old building remote from the city. Only the four of them are there. It’s old and expired, so I can make it look like an accident.”

“Let me guess, Kuroo will help with that?”

“Yes. I will check the thing out today so we can come up with a plan together.”

Tooru is content with that answer. It’s weird how he doesn’t care a bit about those for lives being erased, just because they are the price for his own. Humans really tend to get out of control when their life depends on something. Somehow, that thought disgusts him and sends a shiver down his spine.

John Kramer would have liked him for the lack of compassion.

They finish the breakfast and before all the dishes are cleaned Iwaizumi speaks up again.

“Have you decided where you want to go?”

Tooru may interpret too many into it, but his voice is barely above a whisper and sounds so defeated. It just gives him the signal that Iwaizumi actually doesn’t want to talk about it. Uncomfortable, Tooru squirms on the spot.

“No. I don’t even have some options.”

“Finish the dishes, I’ll be right back.”

Iwaizumi drops the plate he has just been washing into the sink and droplets of lukewarm water land on Toor’s arm and shirt, drenching some areas.

“Fuck you. You just don’t want to do the dishes,” Tooru cries after him as he jogs out of the room. He just pouts again and does as he’s told.

As he opens the drain for the water to escape, Iwaizumi calls for him from the living room.

Tooru cleans his hands and makes his way into it and immediately spots a content Marshmallow sleeping on the couch.

Next he sees a huge map of the world hung up on the wall across of him and beside it stands Iwaizumi, three darts in his hand.

Crossing his arms and frowning, Tooru isn’t sure if Iwaizumi wants him to do what he thinks.

“What is this?”

Iwaizumi shrugs, “Throw the three darts onto the map and you will have your place.”

“Place? You have three darts, I will have most likely three places to choose from.”

Tooru watches Iwaizumi’s eyebrow rise, “Yeah. You will hit three totally tolerable places with them.”

His voice is literally dripping with sarcasm.

“Just give me the damn darts,” Tooru huffs.

Iwaizumi crosses the room and passes him the darts.

“Close your eyes and throw,” he instructs him.

Again, as told Tooru obeys and closes his eyes. If someone told him a month ago that he will decide where to flee to by the pure coincident of throwing a dart, he would have laughed in their face.

One, two, three. One by one the cold metal rushes through his finger, leaving nothing more than a cold patch of skin behind. It’s sealed now. Tooru isn’t sure if he wants to open his eyes. Gladly, he doesn’t even has to.  
“So, you can decide between somewhere in the atlantic ocean, Antarctica or Spain.”

Tooru’s eyes shoot open and he turns to face Iwaizumi. He looks him dead in the eye.

“Then antarctica it is.”

Iwaizumi huffs and Tooru thinks he can see the trace of a smile on his lips.

“I will tell Matsukawa and Hanamaki that you will go to Spain.”

“Sí,” Tooru laughs at Iwaizumi’s dumbfounded look.

“I will head out now. Work is calling, please don’t burn the apartment down, thank you very much.”

Tooru wants to make a snarky reply, true to his character, but is quickly shut down by the contact of lips on his own. Before he can even process what’s going on the touch is gone, the only reminder is the warm tingling feeling in his body. He just stands there like a deer caught in headlights. Gaping like a fish, he watches Iwaizumi rush out of the door.

.

Being alone isn’t something Tooru currently likes to be. Darkness engulfs his mind and he can’t fight it. The pictures of the things-horrible things-he has done storm through his mind, making him sick to the stomach.

Apathetic, he sits around, watching the wall in front of him, which is plastered with Iwaizumi’s beautiful, dark paintings. Tooru watches them come to life in his mind, letting them sing their song of pushing daisies.

But there is something inside him that illuminates the streets of his blood, something that gives him hope, that maybe, just maybe, this all will end well. There is a face to this something.

With that feeling comes great responsibility. Maybe Iwaizumi doesn’t even want to put up with him. Wait. He can’t. They will part ways soon. Tooru will be off to Madrid, leaving Iwaizumi on his own, with his own shitty life he can’t escape.

God, he wants to take him with him.

Really, they are one of the same. People who wanted to do good, but managed to stumble into the greatest bullshit ever. There are up to five moments in someone’s life that declare the start of the downward spiral people are in. One of Tooru’s is when he got an offer from a new company and accepted it. Also, when he was born into his plastic family, where everything seemed perfect on the outside, but just because they didn’t let the people look through the curtains too see what goes down in their kitchen.

One of Iwaizumi’s moments is the death of his mother.

It’s eerie, how you can grow accustomed to a person that fast, how someone you haven’t even known for most of the time can make your heart beat rapidly, like you missed the last step while going down the stairs.

Tooru is aware of the fact that he will be a handful that no one wants to handle. He hasn’t studied psychology that long to not be able to self diagnose. Doesn’t that mean he should also be able to fix himself? Again? Well, theoretically, yes. But that takes time.

So much time. It’s a bummer to him, the knowledge of having to spend months in depressive phases, emotional blowouts and apathy again, just trying to get better at slowly getting worse.

Iwaizumi could give him love, compassion and support, but that won’t heal him. Love can’t heal you, it may serve as a catalyst and accelerate the process, but at the end of the day it’s you who has to pick yourself up again.

Tooru lies down, dried out by the speeding thoughts in his head and emotional whirlwind. He feels like ages ago, when he was in high school, playing volleyball. But those kinds of drained were good ones, happy even.

He just needs to close his eyes. Even if it’s just for a while.

.

A few days later Hajime wakes up to the sound of rattling in the kitchen and the smell of ginger.

He squeezes his eyes shut, turning around to drape his arm around Oikawa one last time before getting up. Only to realize he isn’t there.

Oikawa is never up before him.

Hajime bolts up and storm out if the bedroom directly into the kitchen where Oikawa is currently getting a baking tray out of the of the oven.

Owlishly, he blinks at Hajime.

“Good morning?” he asks.

“Why are you up?” Hajime asks instead and walks over to Oikawa.

In front of him, he can see the gears turn behind Oikawa’s eyes until they click.

“You were worried,” he states in a breathy voice.

Hajime stumbles over his words, not knowing what to say, but turns out he doesn’t even need to as Oikawa just kisses him and skips back over to his… gingerbread?

“Merry Christmas, by the way,” Oikawa states with a fond smile on his lips and oh.

“Yes, to you too,” Hajime answers.

Well, fuck. He forgot about that. Luckily, he and Oikawa already decided that presents are not allowed in this flat.

Hajime decides to help Oikawa fuck around the kitchen for a little while.

Like an old married couple, they bake, listening to the oldest songs they can find, for the whole day with Oikawa taking breaks on the countertop to drink coffee. Just to watch Hajime. Sometimes he sees him staring over the rim of the cup.

“Why am I even baking? You started this whole chaos,” Hajime whines when Oikawa takes another ‘break’.

“I already started early. I’m exhausted,” he shrugs, giving Marshmallow a piece of dough. He earns himself a glare from Hajime for that.

At the end of the day they have seven trays of different kinds of cookies and other stuff which they don’t know what to do with now.

So Hajime grabs his phone and calls people he know will help get rid of it.

Not even five minutes later they are on his doorstep, faster than the Flash himself when it’s about food.

“Here’s your present,” Kuroo announces and pushes a bag into Hajime’s chest while walking straight into the living room where Oikawa already is. The others follow suit.

“It’s explosives, am I right?” Hajime asks, putting the bag carefully on the counter, already used to Kuroo’s ‘presents’.

Kuroo just Cheshire smiles at him.

Together they just sit around in Hajime’s living room and talk while getting rid of the sweets they made.

“God, I thought after moving out, this whole getting fat over christmas thing stops,” Kuroo complains as he grabs another Khvorost.

“Oh, by the way. Matsukawa and Hanamaki are throwing a party on New Year’s Eve. They asked to bring you too and if I’m going you will be, too,” Kozume states sometime later, glaring as soon as Hajime shakes his head.

There is a certain kind of finality in his glare, leaving no room for declining.

Just like that, the evening passes. An evening filled with laughter and a light atmosphere.

A family you are blood bound with is not always necessary, is something they probably all learned that day.

Hajime couldn’t really imagine a better way to spend Christmas.

.

Three days later Iwaizumi is out to finish the job for Matsukawa and Hanamaki, and Tooru is alone on the couch, watching a rerun of some stupid show. He pays no mind to it, rather thinking again. How do people behave when they’ve just killed someone? How will Iwaizumi behave?

Their relationship has changed over the past week, but not to something negative. They kiss, wash the dishes, cuddle, make the bed, have sex and sleep in the same bed and Tooru has fallen deep. It’s almost like a normal relationship.

He can hear the old door click on being opened, it always sounds horrible and is almost deafening. Iwaizumi doesn’t want to do anything against it, because in his opinion it would help if someone tried to break into their flat. Is it theirs? Tooru really wants a label for this whole thing, but he’s much too stubborn to actually make the first move.

Iwaizumi appears in the doorway, staring at Tooru blankly before offering a tender, woeful smile and shuffling over to the couch. There is no moment of hesitation before he flops down onto the couch so his head is neatly placed on Tooru’s lap, who immediately starts to stroke his hair.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Tooru offers with a concerned look and the only reply he gets is a guttural groan. That’s enough of an answer he needs.

For a while they just are their, just being in each others presence and slowly disconnecting from the earth, embracing each other, until Iwaizumi opens his mouth and asks the one million dollar question.

“What are we?”

It’s only above a whisper, like the air has been knocked out of his lungs. Tooru holds his breath for a moment, subconsciously thinking Iwaizumi won’t notice him like that, forget that he’s even there and dismiss the question.

When Tooru doesn’t answer and keeps staring at the huge fancy looking flower in the room, Iwaizumi turns his head up and eyes him, emotions raw in a sea of green.

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly as he stares back.

“What do you want us to be?”

They both whisper, as if sitting inside of a glass cubicle with walls thin as hair, which could break if they talk too loud. The moment is completely raw and so brutally honest, Tooru feels like not being able to breathe.

“Boyfriends, but I will be dead in a few days,” Tooru answers, air quoting the ‘dead’.

For a brief second fright hushes over Iwaizumi’s features, darkening them. Seemingly, he gathered himself again, rolling onto his back so his eyes are steadily directed at the ceiling. But his fidgeting hands give away his nervousness.

Until he breathes the words out like he has been underwater for the last minutes.

“What if I came with you.”

Tooru’s eyes widen to the size of saucers. His first reaction is to laugh because yeah, haha, very funny, but the second reaction is anger. Iwaizumi shouldn’t play with him like that. Tooru wants to open his mouth and tell him so, knowing that words would pour out of his mouth like a waterfall and that too many would tumble out, but then he sees Iwaizumi’s unaltered, hard stare and shuts his trap on the spot. Tooru has known him for long enough to know that this face means serious business.

He feels like rerooted to the earth, thinking he can feel blackness around him.

“You would?” He’s speaking even more silent than before, not to shred the atmosphere.

“Yes, I would. I don’t want you to go away.”

Tooru smiles, grins actually and dips his head down so he has better access to kiss Iwaizumi, who is stretching upwards so they can meet. The warmth of Iwaizumi’s hand feels familiar on the side of Tooru’s hair, Iwaizumi has developed a habit of always having a hand in Tooru’s hair, but he really can’t complain.

The kiss is both their worst and best. It’s all teeth and wetness of happy tears and aching necks, but at the same time it’s sweet like their tongues were dipped into caramel and raw of emotions, they both could break any moment.

That night is the first one in a long time in which Tooru actually doesn’t think about his near future, because he has someone he adores at his side with whom nothing can happen to him.

He’s invincible.

.

The following day Hajime and Tooru drive to Hanamaki and Matsukawa’s again to get the passports, IDs, residency permits and everything else. Hajime already informed them about the successfully accomplished mission.

As they walk into the building, Tooru spots a newspaper on the porch. The biggest headline is about an explosion in some old industrial building where four people left their lives. The sight makes his stomach churn.

In front of the right door Hajime knocks three times and a disgruntled Hanamaki opens the door, like last time. Did they sleep until now?

This time, Hajime and Tooru aren’t led into the office kind room, but into a brightly illuminated living room with a high ceiling and modern furniture.

The thick smell of roasting vegetables that’s fogging the air and the noises coming from around the corner are enough to tell Tooru that Matsukawa is currently cooking.

Hanamaki is visibly delighted about not having to deal with competitors anymore and being able to keep their monopoly position upright.

“I will get you all the stuff and then you are free to live in Spain,” Hanamaki states before staggering away, Hajime and Tooru following.

But before they are even out of the door, a loud “Fuck” and something like a small explosion echoes through the room, high ceiling be damned.

Hanamaki seems unfazed by the whole blow up, like it’s his everyday life. Maybe it is, Tooru wouldn’t know.

“Honey, could you please try not to blow up the kitchen,” he thinks for a short time, “again?”

For a short moment only the padding of bare feet on tiles and soft curses is heard before they get a response.

“Fuck you.”

Matsukawa stressed the “you” very much.

“Dear god, someone help him,” Hanamaki mutters to himself and Tooru jumps to action.

“I’ll go. I’m a good cook,” he smiles, following the scent of burning food into the kitchen.

The first thing he sees is the beginning of a catastrophe. There’s a fire crackling in the pan on the stove. Matsukawa is in front of the sink, frantically pouring water into a bowl. Tooru can barely prevent a huge mistake.

“Don’t you even think about it!” Matsukawa jerks back, dropping the bowl back into the sink.

“Go! Damp some towels!” Tooru orders while sprinting towards the stove, immediately turning it off and moving the pan to a cold space on the stove. Matsukawa presses two damp towels into his hands and he covers the pan with them.

Smoke is rising through the towels and Tooru turns the smoke outlet on and then opens the window to get rid of the burnt smell.

Only now Tooru realises how fast his heart is beating and he leans against the table behind him, supporting himself with his arms. Breaths are coming out of his mouth only shallow and the adrenaline starts to wear off.

He raises his head to look at Matsukawa’s shocked face, suddenly his eyes widen even more.

“Did I just want to douse a oil fire with water like the biggest idiot in the whole world?” he whispers. Tooru just nods.

“It’s fine. That was only a natural impulse. You see a fire, you want to pour water over it. But well, it could have killed us,” Tooru thinks it won’t help poking around the topic.

Matsukawa grabs his phone from the counter, quickly dialing a number and orders food in. Tooru couldn’t suppress his laugh even if he wanted to.

After the incident they leave the pan to itself and flop down onto the couch. He just has to barely escape death every day, doesn’t he?

A few seconds after Hajime and Hanamaki enter the room and Hajime hands him a thick envelope which Tooru opens as soon as Hajime’s fingers leave the surface of it.

He looks over all the documents, not being able to notice a single thing that could give them away.

He also has to suppress the urge to complain about the name they choose. It’s also the smallest in his sea of problems.

“Thanks, we’ll be going now,” Hajime tells them and they bid their goodbyes.

They are already halfway out of the door when Matsukawa speaks up, “We will see you again on New Year’s Eve.”

He smirks devilishly and Hajime just grunts in response.

.

They stand in front of a fabric building that seems to have been built in the late 80’s. Windows are shattered and only bits and pieces of glass still hang on to the frame. The walls are, of course, layered with graffiti, gang sign over another, showing how old this thing really is.

Tooru thinks it could tell so many stories.

Stroboscopes and colorful lightning flashes through the windows every now and then, painting the world in a dark rainbow. Loud music is to be heard and maybe he imagines it, but he thinks the walls are already trembling.

Tooru can already smell the smoke and it throws him back to his first experience with cannabis.

If he’s being honest, he’s beyond nervous to walk into a hall full of shady people from an underground system. But he won’t let it show.

Can they smell fright?

Hajime is the first one to make a move again, walking up to the door and Tooru follows with a churning stomach. Kuroo and the others have already arrived and are waiting inside. Tooru may be a little delighted by the fact that there are people he knows.

When they finally step into the hall, he’s overwhelmed by the ever changing lights, smell and noises. The bass is instantly rumbling through his body like thunder, shaking his bones awake. He isn’t sure anymore if the beat he’s feeling is his hearts or the droning song’s one.

He would have never imagined that so many people would show up here.

It’s a frightening thought to have this whole system right under his nose without noticing until weeks ago.

People all around him are dancing, talking, drinking or simply smoking. He can smell the mingled scent of alcohol and sweat.

Glued onto Hajime’s, heels he follows him into the middle of the room, where couches and tables are placed on a slightly higher ground.

Is this like some V.I.P. lounge?

On the largest sofa Matsukawa, Hanamaki, Kuroo and the others are already sitting, nursing drinks in their hands. They walk the last steps over to them.

“Watch out, dead man walking,” Bokuto exclaims, raising his plastic cup. All the heads turn to him and he stops in his tracks.

Reassuringly, Hajime looks back at him and they keep moving towards an empty spot between the people on the couch to sit down.

Between his friends, Tooru starts to slowly relax as he closes his eyes for a moment, taking in all the senses currently tingling his nerves.

Until something cold is pressed against his hand.

Hanamaki is trying to squeeze a drink into his hand and he takes it from him.

“So. Now we also know about your little plan. Are we invited to the funeral?” Matsukawa asks and Tooru is hypnotized by the way his piercings catch the light.

“If there even is one, you’re welcome. If my sister is also there, you can tell her you had a great time in our just sexual relationship,” he answers with a bitter smirk coiling around his lips.

He takes a sip of his drink and can only guess that it’s strong. But it doesn’t bother him. Not like the first time when he drank pure Vodka.

“Seems like your sister is a little homophobic,” Kuroo states and Tooru just snorts, taking another sip.

“Understatement of the century,” he simply answers and like that, the topic is off the table.  
Tooru is surprised by the light atmosphere in the hall. He imagined this so much shadier, much more tense. But no. Every now and then people even come over to talk to Hajime or Bokuto, asking them for tips, as they are hitman rookies.

There are many conversations Tooru is able to overhear. Normal ones, like people talking about their significant others or families, and shady ones, like conversations about the last people they killed, how much drugs they sold.

If you don’t watch closely, you won’t even see the darker things going on.

Women taking money and disappearing with their John’s in other rooms, exchanges of money and little packages or people beating each other up. But no one cares and neither does he.

A few cigarettes and drinks into the night Tooru decides that he’s drunk enough to dance.

“Hajime, come on. I need to move a little.”

Tooru nudges him into the side, picking at his hoodie until he complies and takes his hand.

Hajime’s hand in his, he leads the way to the dancefloor where they squeeze through the mass of people until they are somewhere in the middle of the crowd, orientation completely lost.

To be honest, Tooru has no idea what he’s actually doing. The alcohol is already in his systems, denying coordinated movements. He can’t even see properly. His vision is blurry and the stroboscope doesn’t make things better. Everytime he looks into the crowd, another flash illuminates the room, then, darkness and as he looks at the same spot again everything is already completely different.

It fucks with his head.

So he just concentrates on Hajime, because he’s always there, right in front of him.

It’s a shame that he can’t really witness Hajime’s movements, so he keeps wondering what they are like.

Fluid? Stiff? Coordinated? Random? To the beat or off?

It’s not just the flashing of lights that won’t allow him to watch, it’s also the fact that Hajime is constantly smiling and laughing and Tooru can’t free himself of the trance of that damn smile.

He’s not aware if he’s laughing himself, but considered logically he is, because he can’t help himself when Hajime is smiling at him, like he’s the light source of the whole universe.

But he is aware of the fact that they are statically inching towards each other until they are pressed chest to chest.

As always, Hajime’s hands bury themselves into his hair, holding him closer.

Tooru can’t help chuckling at his antics.

They exchange sloppy kisses, that are more teeth than tongue. But it’s fine, because it doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is having Hajime as close to himself as possible.

The kisses are bitter from the beer scent still lingering on Hajime’s lips. At least he thinks it’s beer.

Different people are pressed against them, the scent of sweat heavy in the air. Sometimes stray hairs of long-haired women stick to his damp skin or someone accidentally trips and splashes the contents of his cup at them. All in all, it’s disgusting. And Tooru loves it.

The song shift from one to another and Tooru isn’t able to even grasp when they are changing, too engrossed in what he’s currently doing.

“You want another drink?” he screams over the loud noises in the background sometime later and he thinks Hajime hasn’t even heard him.

But he nods and so Tooru takes the lead again, staggering into the next room, over to the huge table with all the alcohol you can imagine. There is no one to mix the drinks, everyone has to do it themself.

The music and screaming from the hall is barely to be heard in there, like the whole room is underwater. Tooru relaxes for a moment, leaning against the wall and closing his eyes, trying to breath evenly. He may be a little out of shape.

“What’s your price?”

The words are breathed into his left ear, sending goosebumps all over his skin and an additional shudder.

Tooru cracks his eyes open, not daring to move his head towards the man beside him.

“What are you talking about?” he asks the shaggy looking man, who’s currently leisurely leaning against the wall, trying to send sympathetic smiles to Tooru. He just frowns.

When he gazes to the right he can see Hajime working on mixing some drinks together. Until the stranger speaks up again.

“Come on, how much for an hour?” he asks in a bedroom voice, fingers of his left hand dance over Tooru’s shoulder.

Tooru would like to say that he has no idea what the guy wants, but he knows exactly what.

“I’m not a call boy, sorry,” he simply states, because hey, things like this can easily happen at a party like this.

“Oh come on, baby. Who cares?” the man literally purred, coming closer with every spoken word.

Tooru looks for Hajime, who seems to realize what’s happening as he stares at the scene in front of him, calculating his next moves as his features darken.

Tooru feels like throwing up.

Something starts to coil around his waist and he can smell the thick scent of Rum on the man. He’s petrified but the warm breath on his neck is getting closer and closer.

That’s when he short circuits. Before Hajime can even move a muscle, he turns towards the man and punches him in the face.

A twinging pain starts to spread through his fingers, all the way up to his arm as his fist collides with the man’s cheek.

The alcohol and force behind the punch send the man tumbling against the wall, slowly sliding to the ground as he curses everything Tooru possess.

Stunned, he stares at the man in front of him, watching the blood drip out of the cut on his cheek bone.

Suddenly, there is warmth around his wrist pulling him out of the room, across the hall through the mass of people into the fresh night air.

Tooru didn’t know he was holding his breath until he sucks the first fit of air in. Adrenaline rushes through his limbs letting him shake like a leaf in a hurricane.

“Are you okay?” Hajime’s hand is, like always, in his hair. Worry is thick in his gaze and Tooru really doesn’t want him to look at him like that.

“That was great,” he breathes out shallowly, smiling as he’s on an adrenaline high.

At first, Hajime just stares dumbfoundead at him, question marks in his eyes. But slowly and steadily his tension loses, worry vanishing from his features and laughing starts to fill the emptiness around them.

“You are one of a kind,” he breathes out between laughing.

Tooru just shrugs, still smiling and maybe a little high.

Hajime shoves his hand into his pocket, getting his watch out. After a quick glance he puts it back and just stares at Tooru like he puts the stars in the sky.

“Happy new year,” he says through a smile and Tooru remembers why they are even here.

“Happy new year. Let’s hope it will be better than the last one.”

Hajime moves closer until Tooru is presses against the wall.

“I really like you, you know?” Hajime breaths out, mere millimeters in front of Tooru’s mouth.

They kiss and Tooru isn’t sure if the firework is real or just in his head, either way, he doesn’t care. It’s unimportant when Hajime stands in front of him.

There hands are all over each other, all inhibitions fallen and still, with every touch electricity ignites Tooru’s veins.

“Happy new year, love birds.”

Tooru jerks to the side and they move away from one another to look at the intruder.

Who else except for Kuoo could it even be.

He’s popping his head out of the doorway, everlasting cheshire smile on his lips.

“Happy new year, asshole,” Tooru shoots back, earning a chuckle from Hajime. Strangely, it still warms his heart.

After a nod to the hall from Kuroo, they follow him inside, back to their old places where everyone is still talking, drinking and smoking.  
Loud “Happy new years” are shouted all across the room, people hugging each other and just being happy they survived another year, seemingly, even without getting caught. Music is still booming through the hall and Tooru is sure the veil of smoke in the room has condensed.

“We already started worrying. You two just ran off,” Kozume tells them to in a slurry voice, as they take seats in their old places.

“Iwaizumi, did you punch the drug dealer that’s currently crying on the kitchen floor?” Matsukawa asks, leaning forward to hear Hajime better. Curiosity is letting his eyes shine.

“I’m not the one with the bruised knuckles,” Hajime muttered into his newly given cup, before taking a sip.

At first, everyone starts staring at Tooru’s hands, then at his face, as if they want to see something like remorse on his features.

“I have my reasons,” he simply shrugged, “anyways. Why do you know each other so well?”

Tooru’s gaze wandered between Matsukawa, Hanamaki and Kozume. He has wondered the whole evening.

“They kind of helped us. We weren’t that good at the beginning of our career, but Kozume took pity on us and taught us a few things,” Hanamaki grins cheekily.

“I just saw potential in them.”

There is a subtle, soft smile on Kozume’s lips, just a small hint.

“But we never had the honour to meet Tokyo’s best hitman until a time ago,” Matsukawa chimed.

Hajime just rolls his eyes and from the corner of his eye he can see Bokuto’s expression darken, just until Akaashi whispers something to him and he immediately brightens, and it’s the first time Tooru has ever seen them kiss. He smiles softly to himself.

“I think we should get going now. We can’t mess up tomorrow,” Hajime remarked while already getting up. Everyone followed, except for Hanamaki and Matsukawa.

As they want to leave, Hanamaki speaks up, “So, good luck with your,” he seems to look for the right word, “vacation.”

He didn’t find it.

“We haven’t know each other for a long time, and it’s a damned shame,” is all Matsukawa says. Tooru waits, thinks someone will add something, but Hajime just nods in acknowledgement and like that they are out of the door.

.

From there on everything goes far too fast for Tooru’s mind to grasp. One minute they are there, and the next moment they are somewhere else with completely different people. He feels like a child on a swing again.

But gladly, Hajime is by his side the whole time, nonchalant and calculating as ever. As if he plans a suicide plus fleeing to another country everyday.

They sit together in their living room again, together with Akaashi, Bokuto, Kozume and Kuroo, trying to figure out their next steps.

“Oikawa, have you already written the report?” Is Akaashi’s first question and all the heads in the room spin at the same time towards him.

“Yes, printed and in folders. I made six prints. Guess that’s enough.”

“That’s good. We need to get them to the media before your suicide,” Kozume reasons and everyone nods in unison.

There is one question that’s burning on Tooru’s tongue, but he doesn’t dare ask it. But when the whole room falls silent, he can almost grab the tension, now or never.

He gulps, takes a deep breath and it’s out before he knows.

“Now, how am I going to kill myself?” They haven’t spoken of that exact part until now.

“I already have a plan,” Bokuto cuts in, sitting upright now, “we will make it look like you jumped from the Rainbow Bridge. I will put a pair of your shoes somewhere on the ledge and you will write an actual suicide note which will be put into one of the shoes then. I will act like a passerby then, see it and call the police when you are already on the plane. The corpses of jumpers are often never found, so that’s perfect. Sound like a plan?”

The silence in the room is deafening. Who know Bokuto could come up with such an explicit plan? Judging by Akaashi’s face, he didn’t have a say in this.

“That’s OK for me. Give me a pen and paper and I will write one right away,” Tooru answers and Hajime brings him what he asked for. Before he goes over to his respective place, he kisses the top of Tooru’s hair.

Hajime seems to have developed a sixth sense for when Tooru needs something to root him again.

It’s also Hajime who speaks up next after sitting down again, “When?”

This small word holds so much weight and everyone in the room knows that this small word is the beginning.

“Do you already have an apartment in Spain? Plane tickets?” Kuroo asks and Hajime is the one who answers.

“Apartment yes, tickets no, because we don’t know when. Why do you think I even ask?”

Kuroo just shrugs sheepishly.

“When are you allowed to move into the apartment?” Akaashi, who seems so collected the whole time, as if this whole situation doesn’t even get to him, asks again.

“Anytime we want, they said. But we should be in within the next month.” The word is taken by Tooru.

Considering nods are to be seen and if Tooru concentrates enough, he imagines hearing their brains work. It spreads his lips a little.

“Kuroo, have you already talked to that client of yours who will let some things slide, like you said?” Hajime asks, fixing Kuroo with a hard stare.

“Yes, everything set with him. He’s working the next three days in a row. I guess that would be an appropriate time.”

Bokuto suggests the day after tomorrow and everyone seems fine with it. Hajime is already on his laptop searching for plane tickets while everyone else sits in silence, only the rare clicking of a keyboard is to be heard.

“I got two for 8:30 pm,” Hajime blurts out and startles everyone who is too deep enveloped into the silence, which is everyone. In the background the printer starts running, printing the tickets.

“That’s good. Akaashi and I will deal with getting the folders to the media around seven, Tetsurou will get you to the airport and Bokuto will prepare everything on the bridge,” Kozume’s eyes are glinting golden with mischief.

Everyone nods, even Tooru, who is still invested in writing a suicide note. He isn’t sure if he should be glad about knowing exactly what to write.

“Kuroo, you call Bokuto when our plane takes off so he can call the police, OK?” Hajime asks Kuroo. The man in question nods dutifully.

Tooru hands the note and a pair of his shoes to Bokuto and the folders to Akaashi. When everybody is ready to leave, Kuroo and Bokuto hug him and fake-sob sweet nothings Tooru can’t quite make out. It’s something along the lines “Why didn’t we spend more time with each other?” and that hits him hard.

Tooru hasn’t processed the fact that he will never return, Hajime will never return. Hajime is leaving everything behind for what? For him? It’s not right and it chews on Tooru’s nerves.

When everyone is gone and it’s just the two of them, Hajime’s sixth sense kicks in again, as he drapes his arms around Tooru. Not speaking, but clearly saying that it’s fine, it’s gonna be fine.

Tooru believes him.

“We still need to pack some stuff,” he says afterwards and so they do.

Each of them has a medium sized luggage so they won’t look to obvious. There isn’t much space for sentiments, as most of the space is used by clothes. But he doesn’t even have that much to take with him anyway. Most of the things they can still buy in Spain.

Still, it’s strange how your whole life can fit into a medium sized luggage, if you try hard enough.

During the whole scene, they don’t talk. Besides the tare tapping of Marshmallow and the sound of fabric rubbing against each other nothing is to be heard. It’s burning Tooru alive and he doesn’t want his mind to get louder.

He doesn’t even understand the things it’s screaming at him, just incoherent sentences along the lines of how he can do this to Hajime or if he ever turned the faucet off when he left his old apartment.

But he doesn’t want to talk about it, so everytime he feels Hajime’s eyes boring holes into his back, he turns around and offers him a smile.

Tooru can feel that Hajime knows he isn’t being honest. But he doesn’t pressure the topic.

Not everything can be solved just because someone holds your hand.

This night, Tooru doesn’t get any sleep, too occupied with all the scenarios of what could possibly go wrong. Not even Hajime can help him with that. This is something he has to deal with alone, but that’s OK. He doesn’t want his mentality to be dependant of someone else.

Warmth is all around him, but sleep still won’t come.

.

“Do you even know a little Spanish?” Hajime asks as he spots Tooru curled up on the couch with his mobile in hand, doing an online language course. His red eyes framed by thick glasses and Marshmallow napping on his lap. A really domestic view that feels like coming come.

Tooru looks over the rims of his glasse.

“Yes. I had it a few years at school and I wasn’t that bad at it. Just need to refresh and advance it a little,” he answers with words laced in confidence, “do you know Spanish?”

Right, he never asked Hajime, who shrugs and answers his question, “Actually, yes.”

The look on Tooru’s face is plain confusion and disbelief and Hajime feels like reliving a déjà vu. His eyebrows are scrunched up and it truly is amusing. Tooru is opening his mouth, wanting to ask something but Hajime beats him to it.

“My mom was a linguist so I got to learn some languages.”

“What? Why did you never mention that? What other languages do you know?” He’s blinking rapidly now.

“Well, a lot. But I’m fluent in English, Spanish and French. Also, nearly fluent in Italian, German and Mandarin. Oh, and Filipino of course, but I was raised with that, so.”

Now he’s gaping, upper body leaned forward and disbelief, possibly, permanent on his face for the next few hours.

“Close your mouth or you will never get it to shut again,” Hajime tells him while sitting down next to Tooru, laying a finger underneath his chin to close his mouth.

“I didn’t expect that,” Tooru says with a voice devoid of emotions. Hajime just shakes his head and laughs.

The rest of the day Hajime helps Tooru studying, even though Tooru didn’t ask for it, because he could have managed it on his own, thank you very much.

But, Hajime’s company is far too comfortable to decline.

It could have been a normal day if they weren’t supposed to run away tomorrow, faking a suicide even. Tooru still gets chills when thinking about it, thinking about his sister’s reaction. Or lack thereof. The thought of it must be connected to the air, Tooru is sure of it, because everytime he thinks about it the temperature of the room drops.

Tooru never thought his life would turn out like this, if someone had told him about it, he probably would have laughed them in the face. Funny how life goes.

But he likes it the way it is now. Standing in the kitchen with a cup of coffee while looking at Hajime scratching Marshmallow in the afterlight of the setting sun is the most beautiful view in the world.

Sure, it has been a long, stony road, but in his opinion it was worth it.

He actually learned so much about Hajime over the course of the last days, for example that he’s ambidextrous, because his mother raised him like that, thinking it could help should he break one of his hands. Thoughtful woman. Tooru would have loved to meet her.

Tooru also found out that Hajime isn’t gay, but pan, or that he has double jointed shoulders or that he gets a lot of freckles in the summer. It’s the small things that make him a masterpiece to Tooru, and could he get any sappier? He smiles into his coffee and walks over to his loved ones.

“Your daily consumption of coffee is in a worrying state,” Hajime states while adjusting to the body besides him, pulling an arm around Tooru’s shoulders.

“Maybe, but who cares?” He hums in response.

Hajime sits up straighter, startling marshmallow on his lap, “I do. Because you drink it way too sweet.”

Tooru doesn’t have to think long about an answer, “I need to get sweeter so I can fit you.”

Green eyes gaze at him, a crooked eyebrow underlining the whole I-can’t-believe-you-have-done-this-face of Hajime’s. Tooru just snickers into his cup, but can see Hajime smirk with a fond expression that is literally plastered onto his face when he’s around Tooru, which is always.

As the time runs and they constantly move closer to their depart, Tooru is sure he can hear a clock ticking louder and louder in the distance, until it’s right inside of his mind and the alert is ringing inside his head, shaking his nerves.

The day goes by feeling more and more like the calm before the hurricane. He thought he already survived it, but now he realizes he has just been in the eye for the past weeks.

Tomorrow, the real hurricane will show.

.

Hajime is tossing and turning in their bed, unable to find any rest and finding no rest is in his top ten of things he hates.

He doesn’t want to move too much. Tooru is still asleep and he wouldn’t want him to wake up. After all he finally found his sleep.

He closes his eyes and runs a hand over his face, his other arm still captured underneath Tooru. He can feel the steady rhythm of Tooru’s breathing on his skin.

Hajime blankly stares at the ceiling, the room damply illuminated by a mood lamp on the bedside table Tooru dragged into the room. He said it’s because he likes to adjust the color to his mood, but Hajime knows it’s because he doesn’t want to be in the dark, feeling far to unsafe, even though lying beside someone.

There is talking from outside of the building audible through the paper walls, Hajime isn’t bothered by it anymore, knowing that it’s the man from the third floor selling all kinds of stuff to strangers.

He turns his head slowly to his right, gazing at Tooru’s sleeping face.

There is no expression, no worry crease, no laughing folds. Just a plain canvas, seemingly untouched by the shit he’s been through.

Hajime can’t resist the urge to stroke some of his loose hairs out of his face, simply to adore him even more.

The pale skin, dipped into a pink hue, making the veins on his eyelids visible, his slightly parted lips and all the perfect features.

The moles scattered on his face, a small, white scar on his forehead and the streak of saliva making its way from the corner of his mouth all the way to his chin.

Hajime smiles to himself, noticing his hand is still combing through Tooru’s, again, soft curls. His right hand is loosely gripping Hajime’s upper arm, sometimes squeezing it in his sleep.

Hajime thinks he doesn’t deserve this. Deserves nothing, to be explicit.

The actual cool temperature in the room starts to heat up. Breathing seems harder with every passing second and his skin is burning where Tooru is touching him, which is nearly everywhere.

He needs to get away.

Slowly, he frees his arm from Tooru, sitting up and turns on the mattress. His feet are currently hanging loosely on the air, only tiptoeing the cold, hard floor.

The contact of the cold air sends shivers across his back and arms, letting goosebumps rise all over his body.

He can feel black eyes boring into his back, so he turns around and is met by a yawning Marshmallow with pointed ears.

Hajime leans across the bed and pets the dog a few times until he lays back down again.

“Everything’s fine, buddy. Just sleep,” he hushes lowly.

He gets up carefully, knowing exactly where to step so the old, wooden floor, so it won’t make any startling noises, until he is out of the door, silently closing it behind himself.

The cold concrete floor is burning into his feet, but he doesn’t care. Just stands there, leaning against the door.

Hajime thinks that’s it. He will just leave the bed, calm down a little and then slip back under the sheets.

But no. The nagging feeling of being wrong, not deserving anything, is still anchored deep in his stomach.

He’s not aware of how long ge has been leaning there, not doing anything, except for letting his thoughts torture him. But the cold floor isn’t biting anymore.

A new sensation spreads in his head, it’s the desire for a cigarette right now.

There is nothing keeping him away from it, so he tabs into the kitchen, opens the second drawer and pulls out a new pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

He spots his glasses on the counter and decides to put them on. As he reaches for them, his arm strokes the old radio beside them. Hajime doesn’t think much of it and moves on.

All the things which he wanted gathered, he makes his way onto the balcony. While passing the hangers, he also grabs his jacket and shrugs it on, before carefully opening the creaky door.

He steps outside and the sudden hit of fresh air nearly knocks him off his feet. After closing his eyes and just breathing a little, he flops down into one of the garden stools, that have been here even before him.

The first cigarette tastes like a piece of freedom, relief. But as one cigarette after another burns down, the feeling of addiction creeps in.

It’s one of those nights where everything is wrong. Well, actually not. Everything is right, but Hajime’s mind tells him that it’s not. And after years of living with your own mind, you start to trust it.

The blood on his hand scares him to death.

He has earned blood money and it’s so wrong. Will he ever be able to leave this state of his life behind?

Surely not, it will always haunt him. The smell, the feeling the sounds.

Hajime shudders violently as vivid images flash through his mind. There is a stone dropping in his stomach and he could vomit all over the place.

So he stuffs another cigarette between his lips and lights it up with trembling, blue fingers. He inhales the smoke, thinking his problems will vanish with it. Simply dissolving into thin air.

The bad thoughts creep back into his mind, tying him to the chair, letting his body feel like concrete.

He’s rotten from the inside. Not good enough for Tooru, not what he needs.

Hajime just wants to disappear. He never wished to be smoke more than now.

A cold blow of wind strokes through his hair, cooling his hot skin when there is a rattling and screeching noise behind him.

He rips his head around, staring at a silhouette in the glass frame. He doesn’t need to see him, he just knows who it is.

He sighs and turns back around, looking over the corrupted city in front of him.

The door is closed again and it sounds like it doesn’t want to be moved that much.

For a brief moment, Hajime thinks Tooru just left, but then there are movements beside him and from the corner of his eyes he can see Tooru sitting on the empty stool beside him.

They don’t talk. The only audible noises are the steady burn of Hajime’s cigarette and the wind dancing through leaves.

They don’t look at each other. Sternly gazing over what’s in front of him.

Until the dam breaks.

“Hajime. It’s 4 a.m. What are you doing here?”

Hajime doesn’t know of he’s being looked at, doesn’t want to know. Looking at Tooru could risk seeing him hurt or worried and Hajime wouldn’t want that.

It would push him off the cliff.

He doesn’t answer.

Tooru doesn’t speak up again. Doesn’t speak up when Hajime shakes, doesn’t speak up when Hajime takes the last cigarette, doesn’t speak when Hajime’s eyes glisten in the moonlight.

His presence is enough.

After the last cigarette burnt down, Tooru simply stands up again, but not moving. Just waiting.

Hajime knows, so he gets up too and they both get inside again.

Back in the warmth, they both stop dead in their moves.

There are noises coming from the kitchen and Hajime’s instinct kicks in.

He pushes himself in front of Tooru. There is enough time to be depressed, right now, there is something more important.

Stealthily, he makes his way into the kitchen, not able to keep Tooru from following.

The source of the noise is clear as day.

It’s coming from the old radio Hajime has stroked when grabbing his glasses, accidentally turning it on, as it seems.

They both release their breaths and can’t help chuckling. Have they always been that paranoid?

Tooru moves first, walking over to the radio and Hajime thinks he wants to turn it off. Instead, he turns the volume up as a new song starts to play.

Soft guitar chords start to humm through the apartment and a voice starts to sing. It’s not accompanied by anything beside the guitar.

“I thought I saw the devil, this morning  
Looking in the mirror, drop of rum on my tongue  
With the warning to help me see myself clearer  
I never meant to start a fire  
I never meant to make you bleed  
I'll be a better man today”

They just stand and stare at the device, listening to the vulnerable music like in trance. The feeling starts to overcome Hajime.

As soon as the drums kick in, adding more weight to the whole song, knocking the air out of Hajime’s lungs, Tooru moves. He strides towards Hajime and hugs him, lazily moving his feet to the music and Hajime can’t help but follow.

“My past has tasted bitter for years now  
So I wield an iron fist  
Grace is just weakness  
Or so I've been told  
I've been cold, I've been merciless  
But the blood on my hands scares me to death  
Maybe I'm waking up today”

As an unit, they move to the music, not once tripping over each other. Hajime holds on tighter to him, hiding his face in the crook of Tooru’s neck.

For once, Tooru is the one stroking his hair.

Arms coiled tightly around each other, they spin through the open space, not knowing what they are doing, but doing it anyways.

Hajime is sure Tooru’s shirt is damp by now.

“You’ll be good, you’ll be good,” Tooru whispers repeatedly into his hair, stressing the words with every more syllable.

“I will ruin you,” Hajime presses out, sounding more broken than he wants, so he bites his lip.

He feels Tooru shake his head.

“You can’t. I already am.”

.

Tooru can feel every nerve in his body vibrating as he is being rocked from side to side by Kuroo’s much too old car. Kuroo doesn’t want to sell it, because it has some kind of emotional connection to him, Tooru didn’t find out exactly what it is, but he guesses it has something to do with the many dents and scratches on the side of the car.

There is a black hole in his memory, he can’t remember waking up, seeing Hajime the first time today, getting picked up by Kuroo. It feels like he has dissociated for the whole day and only came back moments ago.

The drive to the airport feels so much shorter than it normally should and Tooru doesn’t get why it’s like that. But right now he doesn’t get a lot of things. For example, why does Kuroo not want to sell his wrack of a car?

Why is he even thinking about that? Another thing he doesn’t get.

He feels like vomiting. Huge changes in life aren’t a thing he is really fond of. Not even the thought of Hajime being at his side can help him. There are so many things that could go wrong and they are currently all riding on Tooru’s mind carrousel with lightspeed.

Tooru picks at his fingers, but only so much so it won’t start bleeding. Buried in his own mind, he doesn’t even notice the dandling of the car anymore.

It’s still so surreal that he will be dead in a few hours. At least for outsiders. He will be far, far away from his home and it sends pangs of sentiment.

Even though he didn’t have a real home the past weeks anyway.

He lets his eyes wander to Hajime, sitting in the passenger seat, looking as calm and collected as ever.

Tooru also doesn’t get why Hajime isn’t feeling like driving out of his own skin, like he is, until it hits him.

His current feelings are irrational. He doesn’t need to be that nervous or anything, there is actually nothing that could go wrong or happen to them. Everything is carefully planned out, not even Stratic is an obstacle.

They will get into their plane and go on living in Spain. It’s that simple. Theoretically.

He spots a curve ahead of them, so Tooru reaches over, holding onto the two pet carriers to keep them from tumbling down. It took him quite some time to get Marshmallow into it, because the dog hates to be locked into a tiny space. Maybe something that stayed from his past.

The way Marshmallow whimpered in the beginning nearly broke Tooru’s heart and he could already imagine himself crying in not even three minutes. Could have been because of the stress he was experiencing or simply because he adores his dog.

Kuroo stops the engine not far away from the entrance they have to use and bids his goodbyes before giving both, Hajime and Tooru, the awkwardest half hugs known in history. But it’s hard to hug someone when you are crammed into a tiny car and your current feelings alone wouldn’t even fit into it.

There are no long or sentimental speeches. All of them aren’t people of great words, rather expressing their feelings through facial expressions and body languages.

But the hurt behind Kuroo’s and Hajime’s eyes flicker like flames and Tooru can only guess what they feel like.

They walk into airport, feeling Kuroo’s gaze burning in their backs, but looking back again would break them.

They will never know how Kuroo reacted to seeing them for the last time.

.

At exactly 8:35 pm Koutarou gets a message from Kuroo, telling him the plane just took off and that he is supposed to do what has to be done.

Koutarou shoots another text to Keiji, asking when they finished distributing Oikawa’s reports and an answer comes immediately, notifying him that they finished an hour ago.

Perfect. Now it’s believable.

He realizes the soft sound of raindrops hitting the car he is in, so he pulls the hood of his jacket over his head and gathers the things he needs.

He heaves himself out of the car and starts walking slowly alongside the bridge, searching for a place where not that many people are and drops the shoes together with the note.

This is a first, even for him. The churning of his stomach makes him even more aware of it. Koutarou tries to tell himself that everything will be fine.

Smog appears in his head and he gets the feeling of no feelings at all.

He still notices that it would be stupid if he calls the police now and the shoes were dry at their arrival. So he leans against the railing of the bridge and watches the reflection of lights on the water surface getting distorted by the steadily hitting drops of rain.

Koutarou loves the smell of rain. As he looks up into the sky, feeling the drops hit his face, he spots the lights of a plane and maybe, just maybe, that’s Iwaizumi and Tooru’s.

The rain suddenly tastes like salt.

Sure that the shoes are wet enough, he reaches into his pocket to fumble the new disposable cell phone out and calls 110.

“110, what’s your emergency?” a sweet, most likely female, voice answers.

Now, Koutarou has to act a little. You aren’t calm at all when you want to inform the police about a possible jumper. He should know, he once was on the other end of the line. So a little hysteria and he should be fine.

“Yes, hello, I think, oh god, I think someone committed suicide,” he rushes the words out, taking more breaths than actually needed.

“Sir, calm down and try to speak slower. Where exactly are you and why do you think that?” she tries to sooth him with a steady voice, even though he’s sure he could hear it quiver a little. Hopefully, he didn’t call a rookie who is a little overwhelmed now. He still remembers the first time someone called him to inform him about a murder. His hands still start sweating at the memory.

“I’m on the right side of the Rainbow Bridge, probably really close to the middle, there is a pair of shoes,” he takes a deep, shaky breath, “and there is a note in the right one, oh dear lord, please, hurry up!”

He fake sobs a little and then hears the reply of the other line, accompanied by what’s most likely the pressing of a keyboard, “I send someone over. Please, remain where you currently are and thank you for calling,” and like that she hung up and Koutarou throws the phone off the bridge.

A little faster now, he makes his way back to the car, already hearing sirens in the distance as he unlocks it.

He gets into it and watches the cars rush by until everything is illuminated by blues and reads for a brief moment. For a few minutes, he watches the police scrambling around the bridge until they find the right spot.

Koutarou drives home. The heaviness of the situation only hits him now. Who will he annoy now, together with Kuroo? Who will they cry to when their significant others are gone? Who will he work with now?

Silently, a pop song fills the small car and Koutarou tries to concentrate on that until he’s in front of the right building, where he immediately jumps out of the car and up into his and Keiji’s flat.

He rushes past the level where Iwaizumi’s apartment is. Or was?

Looking would probably petrify him, root him to the steps, so he passes without a glance.

After storming into the living room he makes out three shadows by the kitchen counter and someone talking in the background. He can’t make out who is talking, there is static in his ears. But he’s sure he doesn’t know them.

“Koutarou, are you all right?”

Keiji. That’s Keiji’s voice. He could hear it through a sea of voices. It’s the sound that always soothes him.

He can make him out sitting on the countertop, Kuroo leaning against it and Kozume sitting in the high chair beside it. They all look at him with expressions akin to worry.

Slouching over to them, he stands diagonally behind Keiji and just nods.

All the heads turn to the object in the middle of the counter. A small radio Koutarou tries to listen to now too.

“Minutes ago we received the message of a suicide. An anonymous caller notified the police about an apparent suicide of someone who jumped off the Rainbow Bridge connecting Shibaura Pier and the Odaiba waterfront development in Minato. The police confirmed it’s a suicide as a note has been found. The jumper has been identified as Oikawa Tooru, a 25 year old psychiatrist from Tokyo. His body hasn’t been found until yet,” an old, gravely voice sounds through the speakers and Kuroo turns the device out with a trembling hand.

For a moment everyone just stares at the old brown radio with marks from falling down far too often. It’s like a proof that it’s really Koutarou’s.

“We made it.”

He isn’t able to identify the voice. It could be even him.

At the same time they all release a breath they weren’t aware of holding and silently, the sound akin to the raindrops Koutarou heard not many minutes ago fills the small kitchen, feeling emptier with only the ghosts of two people in the room.

.

Days have passed since Tooru and Hajime landed in Madrid. They have moved into their small apartment, it’s the best they can afford for now, and settled as far as it’s possible. Gladly, the flat they rented had a full furniture already.

It’s small, yes, but in a fairly good area. Tooru misses the strange conversations between shady in front of the windows.

Now the struggle of life begins.

Hajime is absolutely not used to things like having a real work and a reputable landlord. Job hunting is hard and Tooru knows he can’t go into the field of psychology again, it would be too showy. So he gets a job in a small Japanese restaurant.

Strangely, he was lucky enough to find a Japanese restaurant with japanese owners who were happy to take him in. Communication problems with the hires isn’t a problem and everything customers tell him, he understands fairly well. And Hajime says he isn’t doing badly at Spanish.

He works shifts in the kitchen and as waiter. The shifts in the kitchen are the best for him. Cooking is something he has always loved and he did get very good at it. Because he is Oikawa Tooru and doesn’t do things half assed, of course he perfected cooking. Maybe he will just make his way in that field. Also, the best about the job is that he doesn’t feel as far away from home.

Tooru is even allowed to bring Marshmallow with him. Of course the dog is living a life in heaven everytime he’s in the restaurant. He either sleeps in the employee’s break room or strides around the restaurant, trying to get stroked by the customers.

At least Tooru doesn’t have to worry about neglecting Marshmallow again.

Hajime started a schooling in a tattoo parlour not far away from the Japanese restaurant Tooru works in. Hajime didn’t plan to do exactly that, but on their second day they went into the crammed parlour, becauses Hajime wanted to get five last roses on his forearm. Four wilted ones and one that’s blooming. It sits at the end of the string now.

The owner asked him if he did the sketches he brought with him and Hajime confirmed it. The owner seemed to like them and asked Hajime to start a formation, as one of his employees resigned some days ago. So of course he said yes.

Everything seems to be fine, besides Tooru’s still returning nightmares. Being awoken by the screams of tortured people isn’t quite his image of nice. But Hajime is there, every time, telling him it’s fine and over.

They are currently walking home from work, breaths visibly as it’s January.

“I never asked you, what’s the blooming rose for?” Tooru muffles into the scarf Hajime draped around his neck, because “You idiot, it’s freezing, put some clothes on”.

He is silent for a few seconds in which Tooru listens to the passing cars and conversations of the people around him. They just finished grocery shopping and are now making their way through a little shopping alley with lights reflecting on the damp streets. He takes in the smell of the rain and just the busy city overall, feeling the weight of one of the two shopping bags in his hand. Marshmallow is still home. Tooru never brings him to work when they go grocery shopping afterwards.

“It’s for you. The wilted roses symbolize all the people I killed as a hitman. Your’s is on top of the string as, hopefully, you put an end to all of this. And you also got a rose because, well, you too were a potential victim and also kind of died. But just for most of the people,” he answers and looks at Tooru intensely, green eyes glinting.

The explanation sends a shiver down his spine and he wraps an arm around Hajime’s right one, mumbling a small “thanks” for which he gets a kiss to the crown of his now short, black hair. He leans more into his side.

They walk by a small technology load and Tooru will never know why, but he puts a hold to their steps to gaze inside the store window in which many TVs of different sizes are displayed. On all of them the same program is running, a news show.

On the two upper corners, right below the rain shelter, speakers are fixed so you can actually hear what’s said on the TVs. Tooru’s spanish by now is so good, he actually can understand what’s being said, expect for a few words.

“Today we received the message of a company that operated in Japan, which tested on humans, executing horrible inhumane experiments on defenseless patients in their asylum. The whole action has been revealed by one of their former employees who gave reports about the happenings to the press in Tokyo before commiting suicide. The company and asylum were then examined by the police to confirm the reports of the whistleblower as true. The heads and employees of the company have to face a trial now,” the news speaker on the screens informes as a picture of Tooru pops up on her right side with his birth and “death” date below.

His hands don’t work anymore and the grip on the white bag in his hand loosens, sending it to the ground while the content tumbles onto the sidewalk. The wave of relief is overwhelming, sending his knees into a state of pudding. His knees hit the concrete beside milk, apples, a pack of flour and baking soda. There are tears streaming down his face and if his body worked like he wants it to, he would scream right now, but he can just gape at the screens above him. Which now show the weather forecast.

There is a static sound in his head and everything seems to much. He can’t breathe. It’s as if someone put an amboss onto his chest. The cold starts to spread through his body, his knees already freezing and pants damp where the fabric meets the ground.

His hands are shaking, so he grabs onto the fabric of his pants to keep them from trembling. People are watching him, silently hushing their theories about what’s going on to one another, but he couldn’t care less at the moment, because it’s done. He made it out of that hell, did the right thing. It doesn’t correct the things he has done, nothing will ever righten that. But he stopped it. His hands reach his face and he’s openly sobbing into his palms right now.

The cold feels like too much around him, threatening to swallow him whole, until there is a familiar source of warmth beside him.

Hajime.

Hands find his and take them away from his face, holding them in a strong grip. When Tooru looks up he finds Hajime’s eyes, glazed over with tears that haven’t fallen until now and a bright smile that could power Madrid’s electricity system for a week.

Tooru doesn’t know if he’s able to smile too, or if he’s just grimacing or laughing like a maniac. Sounds around him are deafened as he crashes into Hajime whose hands magically found their way into his hair again.

“You did it,” he whispers into the crown of his hair and Tooru shakes his head stubbornly.

“No, we did,” he answers and if his voice broke, he wouldn’t know.

Right now, all that counts is Hajime and that he’s free as much as possible. He will never be completely free, the ghosts of past doings will always keep a hold of him, but that’s fine, because there are things to love and someone to be loved by.

Even though you are sobbing and whimpering in the middle of the pavement, it seems like the best thing you could experience, as long as you have the right person beside you.

Because Tooru may be the one that helped Hajime’s string to bloom again, but Hajime was the one who even caused him to bloom.

 

Some post-ending stuff I did for Oikawa's birthday. 

**Author's Note:**

> Congrats! You made it to the end and hopefully with no mental health issues. I warned you. 
> 
> The person who can tell me all the references I used gets something. 
> 
> I've been writing on this thing since October, so leave a comment or kudo you asshole. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. <3
> 
> [Here's my tumblr for more art](majxra.tumblr.com)


End file.
